


closure

by thelittlebirdthattoldyou



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Canon Compliant, Enemies to Friends, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Humor, M/M, Misunderstandings, POV Alternating, Pining, You Should Have Come to Shiratorizawa, daisuga is mentioned, oikawa is ridiculous and ushijima is very very patient, those last two tags refer to ushioi and iwaoi respectively
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:47:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24495955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelittlebirdthattoldyou/pseuds/thelittlebirdthattoldyou
Summary: "Iwaizumi," Wakatoshi says. "You love him."Oikawa freezes. “Hm? Don't be stupid, Ushiwaka-chan.”“It is not my place to intrude into your personal relationships -““It really isn’t,” Oikawa agrees.In his first year of university, Oikawa builds a new friendship and upgrades an old one.Or: Ushijima is not a great wingman, but he tries his best.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru, Oikawa Tooru & Ushijima Wakatoshi
Comments: 67
Kudos: 581





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahaha im so sorry this is not the iwaoi fic i was talking about in my last work. it's something completely different because im trash & also writing 5 different things at one time. but please enjoy anyway!
> 
> centered around oikawa's relationships with both iwaizumi and ushijima, as told by oiks & ushi in alternating chapters. the ushioi here is entirely platonic, so if you were looking for something different, im sorry to disappoint.
> 
> this fic is fully plotted and mostly written! i just need to finish some of the later chapters, so i will continue to post updates weekly.

On the first day of his university career, Oikawa Tooru walks into his dorm, spots his assigned roommate, and turns one hundred and eighty degrees and walks right back out. He dials a familiar phone number - the first one he ever memorized - and starts complaining before Iwaizumi even gets the chance to say hello. “Iwa-chan,” he says, “tell me why Ushiwaka is in my dorm room.”

“Wow,” Iwaizumi says. “You’re not even gonna say hello before dragging me into your problems, huh?”

“Iwa-chan! This is serious. Why is he _here?_ ” Tooru keeps his voice down, glancing at the door every so often. It’s not because he cares at all about sparing Ushijima’s feelings; he just doesn’t want to risk the other guy hearing him talk shit. Knowing Ushijima, he would try to confront Tooru about it, and it would be an awkward situation for the both of them. Tooru would be ecstatic to go the rest of his life without speaking to his high school rival ever again, thanks.

Iwaizumi sighs on the other end of the line. “I don’t know, Shittykawa, is it that surprising? You’re both top volleyball players, you were recruited by similar universities, and you both chose the one you thought you’d do best at.”

“Not true,” Tooru says. “He knew I was going to be here and came just to spite me, I swear.”

“Not everything is about you, dumbass.”

“Why are you taking _his side?_ ”

“I’m not!” Iwaizumi sighs again, sharp and staticky over the phone, and Tooru can picture the way he’s running his hand through his hair, like he always does when he’s frustrated. “I don’t like him either. You know that. I’m just saying, don’t do anything drastic.”

“Unfair. I’m perfectly capable of handling this like an adult!”

“Uh huh.” Tooru can hear the skepticism in his voice despite the weird, muted quality of the call. Really, Iwaizumi should give him more credit. He’s definitely over his thing with Ushijima. The repeated defeats, the whole _worthless pride_ thing, the never getting to go to nationals - that’s all in the past. All in the past. Totally. “Oi, Shittykawa,” Iwaizumi says, interrupting his internal monologue. “Behave. If I have to take a two hour train ride to show up over there and kick your ass, I will.”

“At least then I’ll get to see Iwa-chan again.”

“Asshole,” Iwaizumi says. Tooru can hear the smile when he speaks. “Stop loitering outside your room like a creep and just go in.”

Tooru sqeaks, offended. Never mind that it’s true. “What, I’m not -”

“Yeah, yeah. Just go. You’re not the only one who needs to move in today. I should be unpacking, not listening to your bitching.”

And sure, Tooru huffs and whines, but he can’t deny that he likes it. Likes that Iwaizumi still knows him, even miles apart and embarking on different paths for the first time in their lives. Likes that he still knows Iwaizumi, too. “Fine, mom,” he says. “But I’ll talk to you later, right?”

“Obviously. And don’t fucking call me that.” And he hangs up, and that’s that; Tooru can’t hide behind Iwaizumi any longer.

He straightens, brushes imaginary lint off his clothes - he’s in an old _Star Trek_ hoodie and jeans, and he would have liked to have worn something a little more polished for his reunion with his arch nemesis, but it’ll have to do - and opens the door.

Ushijima is still there. He’s sitting in the common area, blocking the route to the attached bedrooms. Tooru supposes it was too much to ask of the universe that he was just a hallucination brought on by the stress of being in an unfamiliar environment. Ushijima’s wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants; it’s the first time Tooru’s seen him in anything but the Shiratorizawa uniform, and he looks less intimidating than he used to. He’s not looking up, but from what Tooru can see of his face, it looks more content. Less severe.

Plus, he’s surrounded by - Tooru does a double take to confirm that, yes, the bane of half his existence thus far is kneeling in the middle of a collection of potted plants, murmuring to them under his breath like they’re kids or puppies or something. And, taken by surprise as he is, Tooru can’t help that the first words out of his mouth are, “You garden?”

Ushijima glances up. “Oh, hello, Oikawa. Yes, I do. Outside of volleyball, it is my preferred pastime.”

Well. Now he’s gone and made things weird. Tooru’s plan was to ignore Ushijima outside of the most basic, necessary interactions, not to engage him in friendly conversation about their hobbies. _Plants,_ of all things? Damn Ushijima and his ability to get under Tooru’s skin, even now.

“Whatever. Listen, the only way this is going to work is if you stay out of my life. I can’t help that we’re roommates, but we’re sure as hell not going to be friends.”

Ushijima’s expression doesn’t change. “I assume we will also be teammates,” he says.

Tooru groans. “Oh my god.”

“You are still upset with me,” Ushijima notes. “Is it because of your repeated failures to achieve victory over Shiratorizawa?”

Tooru flings his hands in the air. “I cannot deal with this right now,” he says, and leaves again. This time, though, he’s not going to call Iwaizumi. He’s going to prove that he can cohabitate with Ushijima like the responsible college student he is. He’s going to be the bigger man and stay calm. He’s going to grab his stuff and go to his room and unpack. And _then,_ he’ll call Iwaizumi.

Damn it.

He does his best to ignore his roommate on the multiple trips from the hallway to his room. Before he left, Iwaizumi had made fun of him for packing what amounted to all of his earthly possessions, and now he’s starting to see his best friend’s point. The boxes are heavy and cumbersome, and he can feel Ushijima’s eyes on him as he crosses in and out of their shared living space. Every so often, out of the corner of his eye, he notices Ushijima start to open and clos his mouth like he wants to offer his help. He seems to think better of it every time. Good. Like Tooru needs anything from that condescending asshole.

It takes several hours to unpack everything, and Tooru gets so wrapped up in arranging his numerous possessions in their proper places that he fails to register it when Ushijima leaves the building. His focus narrows down to sorting hair products, folding laundry, and collapsing cardboard boxes, with a short break for a takeout lunch in between. By the time the sun is starting to set, his movie posters are on the wall above his bed, his clothes are hung up in his half of the closet, and most of the counter space in their bathroom has been overtaken by his assorted personal hygiene products.

Then, Ushijima still out, Tooru takes advantage of the opportunity to study his rival - er, roommate’s side of the room. The space is… less sparse than he envisioned. It’s neat and utilitarian, but that appears to be out of conscious choice rather than a lack of personal belongings. The sheets are blue and volleyball-patterned, and there’s a cluster of succulents on the bedside table and even an issue of _Shonen Jump_ on the desk. It’s strange, getting these glimpses into the life of someone he’s only ever viewed as an opponent, and Tooru tears his eyes away and heads back out into the communal living area.

Theirs is the last door on this floor of the athletes’ dorm and, as such, the largest. Rather than opening directly into their bedroom, the hallway leads into a communal living area. Tooru has no doubt that the other residents of th floor will be using it as the designated hang-out spot once they arrive.

It’s a decent-sized room that looks bigger than it is because of the large windows on the back wall. Both other walls, to the left and right, contain doors to adjoining two-person bedrooms. The room on the left has been assigned to Tooru and Ushijima. From the looks of it, their other two roommates haven’t moved in yet.

The common area itself is occupied by a couch and several chairs, a TV, and an old desk that has been shoved into an out-of-the way corner. A small kitchenette has been set up in another corner, with a microwave, refrigerator, and dishwasher but no oven. Ushijima’s plants line the windowsills and have overrun part of the floor in front of them as well. Tooru plops himself down on the couch and pulls out his phone.

First, he calls his mom to reassure her that he’s settling in okay, and in the ten minutes that they talk, she gets him to promise to return home for a visit as soon as he has time. Then he has a miniature debate with himself over whether it would come off as too needy if he were to call Iwaizumi again. Then he dismisses the idea as ridiculous, because, well, it’s _Iwa-chan._ The fact that they’re in different colleges now doesn’t negate all the years of seeing each other every day, or the times they slept in the same bed when Tooru had nightmares, or that Iwaizumi was the first person by his side when he fell and injured his knee. Worrying about being clingy now, of all times, is too little, too late.

“I hope you haven’t killed anyone,” Iwaizumi says after picking up.

Tooru laughs and sinks further into the couch. It’s nice to hear his voice, low and gruff and familiar. “You have so little faith in me, Iwa-chan. But don’t worry, I haven’t. Even though he brought up losing to Shiratorizawa the first time I tried talking to him.”

“Ugh.”

“But enough about me! Even though I know you love hearing about my life, I’ll be a good friend and ask how you’re doing instead.”

Iwaizumi grunts, but it sounds more amused than annoyed. Damn. Maybe the separation’s getting to him, too - but then again, that’s probably wishful thinking on Tooru’s part. Iwaizumi has never needed him as much as he’s needed Iwaizumi.

“You know that third-year setter from Karasuno?” Iwaizumi asks. “He’s here.”

“Refreshing-kun?” Images of the smiley, silver-haired setter swim into Tooru’s mind. “You’re not allowed to replace me, okay, Iwa-chan? I’m supposed to be your favorite setter.”

Iwaizumi snorts. “Idiot. As if anyone could be as annoying as you.”

Tooru puts up a token protest, but he’s smiling, certain that Iwaizumi can see right through him. They fall into easy, familiar conversation, interspersed with an old insult here or a dumb inside joke there. When Tooru hangs up, it’s the best he’s felt all day.

He glances at the clock and realizes it’s nearing eleven at night. Ushijima still hasn’t returned, and Tooru is sitting alone in a strange room in a strange city, where the lights outside the window are too bright and far too numerous. It’s more than a little unsettling. As much as he hates to admit it, Ushijima was at least a familiar face. Kind of. If he’s willing to be generous.

Oh, well. Tooru shrugs it off. It’s not like he cares where that bastard is, and he might as well go to bed and get an early start for tomorrow. Classes haven’t started yet, but the volleyball team is already holding practice, and he needs to make a good impression if he wants to make starter this year and captain in his last. Having Ushijima here might complicate that, but he knows this is the one area in which he can beat out his old rival - leading people, picking up on their strengths and weaknesses, and making them better together than they are as individuals. He just has to prove it to everyone else.

* * *

When he wakes up the next morning, Ushijima is dressed, sitting up on his bed and reading his magazine with an intense frown that’s more suitable for a volleyball court than directed at a shonen manga. Tooru blinks at him. “Where were you?” he asks.

Ushijima looks up. “It appeared that my presence was displeasing to you,” he says, “so I left to give you space. My apologies if it troubled you.”

That catches Tooru off-guard - he hadn’t thought Ushijima would be the type to pick up on social cues like that. But he recovers quickly. “Yeah, right. Like I’d spend my precious time worrying about you.”

“I see.” Ushijima’s gaze is no less concentrated now that he’s looking at Tooru instead of the manga. He has this way of making direct eye contact with anyone he happens to be talking to, and Tooru isn’t the type to scare easy, but even he squirms under the intensity of the gaze. He expects a lecture or maybe a scolding of some sort, but all Ushijima says is, “We have practice at ten o’clock today.”

Tooru rolls his eyes because he knows - he received the exact same information about their schedules as Ushijima when he enrolled - but he doesn’t deign to respond. Instead, he heads to the bathroom to start on his comprehensive morning routine. You have to put in effort to look as good as he does, after all.

More than that, though, the routine is grounding. It gives him something mindless and simple to focus on, and he can work off some of the restless energy invading his body. He hasn’t had the chance to play volleyball for a good few days, preoccupied as he was with packing and moving and saying goodbye to all his friends and family.

Once he’s done, Ushijima accompanies him to the gym. Tooru would rather be alone, to be honest, but the two of them are headed for the same destination at the same time. It’s sort of unavoidable.

The silence between them is weighted, not that Tooru minds - he doesn’t have anything to say. His brain is too busy grappling with the idea that this is his first volleyball practice without Iwaizumi by his side. No more threats of violence or motherly nagging - and he takes the time to reflect on how weird it is that he actually misses those things. Instead of his childhood best friend and the team that he loves, he gets Ushijima and a veritable host of strangers.

They arrive at the gym early, the captain and a few other seniors having arrived before them. The locker room is up-to-date and spacious, a serious upgrade even when compared to the one at Seijoh, which wasn’t too shabby itself. It gets Tooru’s blood pumping a little, because if these are the lockers, then what must the actual court look like?

One of the seniors must catch the impressed gleam in his eye, because he shoots Tooru a smug grin. “Perks of being a top team,” he says. “We get all the funding we want.”

“Tell me about it.” Tooru winks and throws up a peace sign, and the guy laughs. No time like the present to cultivate good relationships with his new team, after all.

By the time Tooru is dressed, everyone else has ambled in. That’s when the captain, a tall, heavy-browed senior named Sakai Kosuke, pulls him and Ushijima aside for a talk.

“Oikawa. Ushijima,” he greets.

While Ushijima remains silent, nodding at the captain, Tooru plasters on his best smile, open and friendly. “Sakai-san,” he responds, “is there a problem?”

“Perhaps. If so, I’m trying to head it off before it shows up.” He takes a deep breath. “We recruited you both believing that you would be good fits for our team, despite knowing about your difficult relationship together and the risk that it could pose. If you are unable to resolve any interpersonal issues and cooperate on the court -”

“No problem,” Tooru interrupts. Beside him, Ushijima tenses for just a second. “We’re starting over. The past is the past.”

The captain studies them both a bit longer before his stiff posture relaxes into something more natural. “Good,” he says with a small smile. “Sorry if I scared you. All right, we’re starting warm-ups soon, so get a move on.” And he walks off.

Ushijima turns to face him. “That was mature of you,” he says.

Tooru narrows his eyes. “Don’t think for a second that this means everything is fine and you’re forgiven,” he hisses. “All it means is I’m not going to let anything stand in the way of volleyball here - not you, not me, not our past. Got it?”

“You should take your own words to heart,” Ushijima says. “I have never wanted you as my enemy.”

He leaves to join the rest of their team doing warm-ups without even waiting for a response. Tooru gnashes his teeth. The absolute nerve of him, acting all high and mighty -

Deep breaths. Tooru schools his face into a neutral smile and heads out as well. Nothing gets in the way of volleyball. Right.

And because Tooru has resolved to put volleyball first, he can’t even be petty and give Ushijima bad tosses on purpose or anything. After warm-ups, the captain decides to start things off with a practice match, freshmen versus the current starting rotation, to see how everyone stacks up. It’s Tooru’s first testing ground - the primary setter for this team graduated last year, and the current one, a sophomore, hasn’t played many official games. Tooru thinks he can snag the position if he stands out enough.

At first, Tooru makes it a point to set to the other spikers. He needs to drill it into Ushijima’s thick skull as soon as possible that this is not Shiratorizawa, he is not Shirabu, and he is not going to rely on Ushijima more than anyone else on the court.

That strategy doesn’t hold up for long, though. Halfway into the first set, they’re being crushed by the upperclassmen. Tooru, in a fit of frustration, sends the ball to Ushijima. The toss is perfect. The way Ushijima reacts is perfect as well; he springs into a high, vertical leap and smashes it through the opposing blockers.

The upperclassmen are caught off-guard, evidently not expecting Tooru and Ushijima to work so well together on their first day as teammates. But Tooru’s spent far too many sleepless nights watching and rewatching Ushijima’s spike to not know exactly what the ace needs.

After the initial surprise wears off, the upperclassmen have time to get used to receiving Ushijima’s spike, and Tooru’s team ends up losing. But the margin is respectable, especially considering they’re all first years going head-to-head against one of the nation’s most prestigious university teams. He catches the coach and captain watching him with something like approval on several occasions throughout the match, and during their lunch break, he speaks with several of his teammates and makes a good first impression. Tooru’s more confident than ever that he’ll make the starting lineup within the year. Even the thought that Ushijima will probably be able to do the same isn’t enough to dampen his mood.

Ushijima, however, seems determined to ruin everything for him. Practice ends late in the afternoon, and he’s waiting outside the gym when Tooru gets there, freshly showered and changed. Tooru scowls at him. As if they have any reason to spend time together without volleyball as a distraction.

He starts to walk away, but Ushijima calls out to him. “Oikawa, wait.”

Tooru groans but stops in his tracks. “What do you want?” he asks without bothering to turn around.

“You played well today.”

“I don’t need your approval, Ushiwaka.”

Ushijima, naturally, is undaunted. “We played well together. Had you chosen true strength over your pride and gone to Shiratorizawa, we could have -”

Tooru starts walking again. Really, he doesn’t know what he expected.

Ushijima follows. Tooru hears measured footsteps behind him and, realizing that he won’t be able to outpace Ushijima, turns to face his pursuer. “Get it through your dumb big head already!” he says. “I never wanted to go to Shiratorizawa, I would rather quit volleyball forever than go to Shiratorizawa, and I don’t for a single moment regret choosing Seijoh.”

The robotic expression on Ushijima’s face doesn’t change in the least, which just pisses Tooru off more.

“Oikawa -”

Tooru doesn’t let him finish. “No. Shut up and listen to me. I’ll put up with you as much as I have to, but no more. You do _not_ get to swoop in and lecture me, so get off your damn high horse.”

With that closing statement, he stalks off. And this time, though they’re both going back to the athletes’ dorms, Ushijima doesn’t follow him.

* * *

“- so basically, he’s insufferable and if I have to interact with him again anytime in the immediate future, I will break like three laws,” Tooru says later that day as he finishes his latest rant about Ushijima. The man in question has, conveniently, still not returned from wherever it is that he goes when Tooru is annoyed with him.

In the time since practice let out, Tooru has managed to make dinner - if microwave ramen is considered a viable dinner - and finalize his class schedule. He’s migrated from the flimsy chairs in the makeshift dining room to his bed to call Iwaizumi.

“Hm,” Iwaizumi grunts in response.

“Iwa-chan!” Tooru whines. “Don’t ignore me! I’m too pretty to go to jail.”

“You’re so annoying.”

“I can’t believe this. In my time of need, I spill my heart out to my oldest, dearest friend - and he calls me annoying. The betrayal!”

“Stop being so dramatic.” Iwaizumi sounds amused. “You’re right, I wouldn’t want to be in your situation, either. But you’re there, so deal with it.”

Iwaizumi’s never been one for kind and comforting. Tooru can recognize, at least, that this is his way of trying to be helpful. And he’s sort of reached his daily limit for complaining, anyway. “Fine, fine. I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Be a good friend and distract me.”

Iwaizumi hums. After a few seconds, he says, “Sugawara’s also on the team here. We got coffee today.”

At that, Tooru shoots straight upright. “Iwa-chan!” he all but screeches. “You’re not serious? I told you you weren’t allowed to replace me with another setter!” Iwaizumi elected to continue volleyball in university, despite having no plans to play in the professional leagues. The decision, of course, meant that he would be playing with a main setter other than Tooru for the first time in - well, for the first time ever. Tooru can’t deny the painful twist of his heart when he thinks about it. Still, he hadn’t expected the setter involved to be from Karasuno, of all places.

“Who’s replacing anyone, idiot?” Iwaizumi says, pulling Tooru out of his hole of self-pity. “It’s just coffee.”

Tooru flops back onto his pillows. “That’s what they all say. First coffee, then dinner, then soon you’re getting married and having fifty kids and forgetting all about your poor best friend.”

Iwaizumi laughs at him, which he doesn’t really appreciate but can’t muster the energy to object to. “Don’t be stupid,” Iwaizumi says. “You’re too loud and bothersome for anyone to forget about. Anyway, he and Sawamura are already together.”

“Sawamura? You mean the Karasuno captain?” Come to think of it, they’d always seemed fairly close in the matches Tooru had watched them in.

“That’s him. He goes to uni in Tokyo. You might see him around.”

“I’d rather die,” Tooru says. “Running into one former rival is bad enough, thanks.”

“Whatever, Shittykawa.”

There’s a brief lull in the conversation. Tooru shuts his eyes and listens to the steady whistle of Iwaizumi’s breathing. Maybe if he can’t see his surroundings, he can pretend that Iwaizumi is lying right next to him. They stay like that for a few minutes, neither having anything of real substance to add to the conversation, but neither wanting to be the one to end the call.

The sound of footsteps starts up from the living room, signalling Ushijima’s return. Tooru sighs. “I guess I should go,” he says.

“‘Kay. Same time tomorrow?”

“Of course, Iwa-chan.”

After they hang up, Tooru pulls his blanket over his head and rolls over to face the wall. It’s far too early for him to be sleeping on a normal day. He’s not even physically tired, despite the rigorous university practice, but mentally and emotionally, he’s exhausted. And he doesn’t have the patience required to face Ushijima right now, so even if he can’t fall asleep yet, he can at least fake it to get out of dealing with his problems.

That’s how it starts. Tooru doesn’t mean to start avoiding Ushijima, not really. It just happens. The thought of having to make nice with the guy has Tooru’s nerves on end, so it’s easier to cease interacting with him entirely outside of practice and a few curt exchanges now and then. And soon classes start, and the his courses and Ushijima’s are mostly scheduled for different times.

(He’s majoring in _agricultural studies._ The dichotomy between Ushijima-all-Japan-super-ace and Ushijima-plant-nerd only gives Tooru more of a headache.)

So it’s easy to avoid him. And once Tooru realizes that that’s what he’s doing, he rolls with it. Instead of worrying about Ushijima, Tooru befriends their other two roommates, a pair of basketball players who are decent enough guys despite being convinced that volleyball isn’t as difficult of a sport. He goes on a few dates; although he doesn’t have a fan club on campus like he did in high school, there are plenty of people who are interested. They all fizzle out after one or two meet-ups. And he phones Iwaizumi on the daily. Whenever Ushijima looks like he’s going to try to approach him, Tooru shuts it down by surrounding himself with a crowd of classmates or striking up a conversation with Captain Sakai about a difficult maneuver.

Most of all, he puts his everything into extra practice. When he’s not in class, he’s on the court perfecting his serve. Sometimes one of the other players is there as well, and they’re willing to help him practice his spike. Sometimes that other player is Ushijima, though, and Tooru tries to focus on the ball and his form as much as possible to deter interaction.

Tooru never considered what Ushijima was like at practice, never thought that the ace needed to practice very much at all. It’s was a stupid thing to think - you don’t get to be at Ushijima’s level on talent alone, even if you are a genius - but it was easier. If he could convince himself that his competitors relied on their natural abilities alone, then he could convince himself that he would someday catch up to them through hard work and dedication.

Stupid. How is he supposed to compete with geniuses who also practice as much as he does? Tooru serves his next ball as hard as he can and pretends he’s aiming at Ushijima’s head.

The long hours of extra practice pay off. He can tell that he’s playing better with the team, and his seniors must recognize it as well, because he’s starting to be subbed in for the current setter in practice games.

And if it all comes at the expense of a swollen knee and ice packs every evening, well, he manages. It’s not like Iwaizumi is here to yell at him or drag him home, and it’s not like Tooru’s going to tell him.

Pretty soon, a month has passed where Tooru barely acknowledges Ushijima’s existence. It’s a good month. Great, even. But alas, as with all great things, it must come to an end.

In particular, it happens at a house party. They’re little more than a week away from their first real game of the season, and Sakai has taken it upon himself to facilitate team bonding. He treats everyone to a dinner of Korean barbeque, spends the whole meal complaining about the dent it will make in his wallet, and invites them back to his apartment. He lives off-campus with two other seniors on the team, and they have a stockpile of as much alcohol as you’d expect from a bunch of college boys.

As recent additions to the starting roster - although Ushijima isn’t the ace yet, Tooru can admit that it’s only a matter of time - Ushijima and Tooru are at the center of the celebration. Their teammates keep egging them on, pressing drink after drink into their hands.

Tooru doesn’t have much of a taste for alcohol, never has. He has been drunk a grand total of one time. It was back in high school, and Iwaizumi still makes fun of him for how hungover he was next day, puking into the toilet and everything. After a few glasses, he starts to politely decline offers for a refill and switches to water.

Ushijima, on the other hand, has decided to let go of his inhibitions tonight. Tooru watches with growing incredulity as he throws back everything handed to him without batting an eyelash. It becomes something of a game. People start mixing drinks with the most absurd flavor profiles they can think of to test whether Ushijima will down it. He does every time, without complaint, until Sakai cuts him off.

And sure, he’s a big guy with a lot of muscle mass, and they’re all full on barbequed meat. But such a large amount of alcohol in such a short amount of time can’t be good for anybody.

Tooru is curled up on an armchair, sipping his water and soaking up the cheerful laughter and chatter of his teammates around him, when Sakai approaches with a sheepish smile. One of Ushijima’s arms is draped over his shoulder, and the spiker himself is leaning against his captain, half-unconscious. Tooru blinks.

“Oikawa,” Sakai says, and Tooru is struck with the sense that he’s not going to like whatever comes out of his mouth next. “I’m so sorry, but it looks like Ushijima is done for the night. Since you live together, would you take him home?”

Of course. Tooru pastes on a smile and flashes a thumbs up. He has to put on a good show in front of the captain, after all - Sakai doesn’t know that Tooru and Ushijima haven’t been talking for the past month. “Will do, Captain-kun. Just leave him to me.”

Sakai thanks him and wishes him good luck, relief obvious in his eyes, and sets Ushijima down on the floor. A crash echoes through the apartment, and he rushes off somewhere, shouting something indistinct at a cluster of people by the kitchen table. Tooru doesn’t bother checking to find out what they’re doing.

He sighs and grabs Ushijima’s arm to pull him to his feet, manages to guide them both to the door, Ushijima leaning most of his weight on Tooru. He’s heavy.

Tooru grits his teeth and takes him out into the hallway, propping him up on the wall next to the door like an unwieldy wooden board. Cursing all the while, he pulls out his phone and calls them a cab.

The ride home is silent. Tooru and Ushijima sit next to each other in the backseat. Ushijima is there so he has more room to lie down, and Tooru is there because Ushijima is quite visibly drunk and the cabbie refused to let them in the car unless Tooru could stand by to stop Ushijima from throwing up in it.

No one throws up, which Tooru is grateful for. In fact, Ushijima is fast asleep, bulky frame curled up on two of the seats in an awkward, hunched way. Tooru has to shake him awake when they reach their stop. Then he has to help him out of the car, into the building, and up the stairs to their room.

Ushijima is somehow less coordinated this time around, perhaps as a result of his short nap. He can’t walk in a straight line, and Tooru ends up supporting more of his weight than before while also having to guide them to the right place. “Jesus,” he mutters, “you’re the worst.”

In response, Ushijima grunts and does this weird shuffle-hop thing that would have resulted in him falling flat on his ass if Tooru hadn’t scrambled to keep them upright.

“Why did you even have so much to drink?” Tooru asks. He’s tempted to drop Ushijima like a sack of potatoes and leave him here, on the sidewalk outside their dorm building, but he’s not cruel enough for that. Maybe. Probably.

Ushijima squints bleary eyes in his direction. “They kept offering.” His words are slurred together around the edges, but, under the circumstances, he has retained a surprising degree of coherency. “It would have been rude to refuse.”

Despite the oncoming headache, Tooru can’t help but smile. Just a little bit. “Damn it,” he says. “Of course you’d get hammered out of your mind trying to be polite, you idiot. Of course you would.”

Ushijima doesn’t say anything, so Tooru refocuses his attention on navigating them past the doors to the dorm complex and up the stairs. They’ve just reached their floor, and Tooru is about to pat himself on the back and call it a day, when Ushijima stops moving. He just. Stands there. And refuses to take another step forward. Considering the startling lack of basic motor skills he’d exhibited earlier that night, Tooru is dumbfounded by how sturdy he becomes all of a sudden. “Ushiwaka, what the fuck.”

“Oikawa.” Ushijima’s eyes bore down into Tooru’s, and he’s frowning. “I apologize. For - for - discrediting your accomplishments. I never meant to imply that you were… lesser for attending Aoba Johsai.”

“Yeah, well, you did.” Tooru forges onward in his valiant attempts to push Ushijima forward. He doesn’t budge.

“I apologize,” Ushijima says again.

Tooru rolls his eyes heavenward. He does not need this right now. On a list of all the things he does not need, this would be at the top. “Save it for when you’re sober,” he says. “Now, come on. Move, you big oaf.”

He tries another approach: tugging on Ushijima’s arm to pull him forward instead of trying to shove him. Ushijima, having said his piece, lets himself be dragged down the hall and into their room. Tooru deposits him on his bed.

As far as he’s concerned, that’s the extent of his duties. Ushijima is home safe, and Tooru never signed up to be any kind of nurse or caretaker, so they’re going to leave it at that. He attends to his own pre-bedtime business and tucks himself into bed, prepared to wake up in the morning and leave this entire night behind him.

“Oikawa,” Ushijima says in the dark.

Tooru had assumed he was asleep. He groans into his pillow. “Ushiwaka. When you’re sober. I mean it. Shut up.”

He guesses that Ushijima takes his words to heart, because there’s not another peep from the guy. _Thank god,_ Tooru thinks. With any luck, Ushijima is so drunk he’ll forget any of this happened.

Tooru has never been very lucky, but a guy can hope. He presses his face more firmly into his pillow and goes to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i dont go on it often but if you want you can follow me on tumblr [@thelittlebirdthattoldyou](https://thelittlebirdthattoldyou.tumblr.com).


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Ushijima is sober and Oikawa is oblivious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **no manga spoilers in the fic itself (which is only canon compliant with the anime) but there kind of are in the end notes?? they're very out-of-context but here's a heads-up just in case.
> 
> disclaimer: i know 0 things about college volleyball in japan. or college volleyball in general, really.
> 
> finally, ushijima best boy & i love him.

Wakatoshi wakes up with the worst headache of his life. His head is pounding, and his mouth tastes like sand and stale vodka. The lights are off, which is a small mercy, but even the soft beams of sunlight that stream through the open window are enough to irritate his eyes. All he wants to do is burrow under the covers and ignore the world around him, but Wakatoshi forces himself to sit up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

There’s a glass of water and two tablets of aspirin on the nightstand. Oikawa must have left them there. Wakatoshi swallows the pills and downs the water in one long gulp. Then, while he waits for it to kick in, he pieces together what he can remember from last night.

Most of it comes to him in flashes of muted light and movement. Sound is the clearest part of his memory, most likely because he found it harder and harder to keep his eyes open as the night dragged on. He recalls the exuberant cheers of his teammates at the captain’s apartment, the grating rush of Tokyo traffic after Oikawa took him outside, and the distant, disembodied tone of his voice as he fumbled a long-overdue apology.

When he first moved into the dorm room on that fateful day over a month ago, Wakatoshi was surprised to see Oikawa walk in as his roommate. But surprise was by far the strongest emotion he experienced. Oikawa’s presence brought no enmity or revulsion, only a faint sense of familiarity and nostalgia.

Wakatoshi regretted, still regrets, that their careers in high school volleyball ended the way they did. That the both of them left things so unresolved, so divided.

He had always respected Oikawa as a setter and as a captain. But in the end, all it came down to was a matter of strength; Shiratorizawa was the stronger team.

Upon learning that they would be playing on the same team, Wakatoshi was satisfied to discover that his long-held belief was vindicated. He and Oikawa _did_ work well with each other, to an astonishing degree: Oikawa’s precision and carefully honed tosses coupled with his own raw power and skill as an ace.

It became clear, though, that Oikawa still harbored resentment toward him. And soon he started avoiding Wakatoshi altogether.

At first, Wakatoshi didn’t let it get to him. He was preoccupied with the start of classes - though he planned to go into professional volleyball, he was interested in the content of his agricultural studies courses as well - and didn’s bother thinking about his interpersonal relationships.

However, schoolwork could only distract him for so long. The long stretches of tense silence became reminders of his lackluster social skills rather than periods of potential productivity. While Oikawa surrounded himself with new friends and admirers, Wakatoshi dedicated himself to maintaining his assignments and his volleyball skill. His grades and performance on the court thanked him for it, but odd, melancholic thoughts were invading his mind with increasing frequency the more time he spent alone.

He thought to call his old teammates for assistance. Shirabu and Goshiki and the other underclassmen had their own worries managing the new team, but the former third years had no such commitments. They seemed surprised that Wakatoshi initiated contact out of nowhere - aside from Tendou, who exchanged sporadic text messages with him about the most random topics, they had fallen out of touch - but were nonetheless sympathetic to his concerns.

Tendou, with his acerbic comment of “That pretty boy actually has emotions? Who knew?” was no help. Neither was Oohira, whose views on the matter were too similar to Ushijima’s to provide any enlightenment.

Semi made several comments about how dissatisfied he was with Shiratorizawa’s playing style, where he was replaced with a younger setter simply because he was unwilling to toss to the ace as often as Washijou-sensei wanted. He suggested that Oikawa may have been feeling something similar, but Wakatoshi didn’t think that was the crux of the problem.

Shiratorizawa was strong, but Wakatoshi recognized that there were different types of strength. His university team was strong, nationally renowned, despite focusing on more team-oriented, strategic plays as compared to Shiratorizawa’s reliance on force. Athletes, traded around as they are, must be adaptable, and Wakatoshi had no problem with no longer being the center of attention of the new team. He’d never approached Oikawa about setting to him more; Oikawa had no reason to hold a grudge against him in that regard.

No, Oikawa’s dislike of him must have stemmed from something else. Something deeper. Unfortunately, Wakatoshi had little idea of where to start searching for that something.

That is, until he ran into another old volleyball opponent who was willing to provide him with an alternate perspective - Sawamura Daichi.

On the first day of their cohabitation, Wakatoshi learned that in order to make the arrangement work, he would have to remove himself from the dorm when it appeared that Oikawa was getting too upset with his presence. So he started going out for long walks around campus. His preferred destination was a nearby park, green and lush and occupied by various colorful floral specimens, reminiscent of the country property he’d grown up on. It was calming.

On one visit, sitting on a wooden bench to observe the foliage around him, he spotted Sawamura through the tree branches. Sawamura was in casual athletic wear, out for a morning jog, and he happened to stop for a water break near Wakatoshi. “Sawamura,” Wakatoshi said, causing him to look up. “It is good to see you again.”

“Oh, hey, Ushijima. You, too.”

From there, they’d settled into a comfortable conversation about their respective universities and studies. Wakatoshi would be lying if he said he no longer thought about the loss to Karasuno under Sawamura’s captaincy. He returned to it every so often, analyzing each play and wondering what he could have done to produce a different outcome. But one loss had little impact on Shiratorizawa’s status as a powerhouse or his volleyball career as a whole. He harbored no ill will toward Sawamura for it.

They reached a natural stopping point, and Sawamura looked ready to continue on his way. But - “May I ask you a question?” Wakatoshi said.

Sawamura paused. He visibly relaxed back into the conversation, readopting that open, friendly demeanor of his that invited confidence. “Sure, go for it.”

“I presume you are aware of the turbulent relationship between myself and Oikawa Tooru.”

“I think Hinata mentioned something about it, sure.”

Wakatoshi proceeded to outline the problem - Oikawa’s avoidance of him and his inability to understand why. Sawamura nodded along for the duration of his explanation and, by the end of it, seemed to reach a conclusion.

“Have you considered,” he said, “that Oikawa thought you were saying ‘I told you so’ or something? I mean, you spend all this time telling him that he could’ve gone to nationals if he’d played on the same team as you. Then, as soon as you’re on the same team and you _do_ end up playing well together, you rub it in his face.”

Wakatoshi frowned. Was that what he was doing? “That was not my intention.”

“Never said it was. It just kind of sounds like you were saying he wasn’t good enough on his own.”

“It has nothing to do with his volleyball prowess. I still respect his abilities greatly, despite the fact that he did not choose Shiratorizawa.”

“Maybe it’s not about Shiratorizawa, though. Maybe it’s about Seijoh.”

“What does Aoba Johsai have to do with anything?”

Sawamura cringed. “Well, look - when you say that Shiratorizawa is obviously the better choice, aren’t you implying that Seijoh is inferior? And for someone like Oikawa, who has a lot of pride in his teammates and friends…” He trailed off.

That much was true. Oikawa made a conscious effort to bond with every member of their new team and inquire after what kind of sets they preferred. As a result, it made Wakatoshi feel all the more alienated when Oikawa refused to treat him the same way. If Oikawa had felt a similar kinship with his Aoba Johsai teammates - no, a deeper one, considering how long they’d played together - then Wakatoshi could see how his dismissal of their talents could have come across as arrogant.

He hadn’t intended it to be. He hadn’t given much consideration to the rest of Aoba Johsai at all, to be honest. And maybe that had been a mistake.

He thanked Sawamura, and they exchanged phone numbers with an agreement to chat at another time. Wakatoshi could use some more friendly advice on the matter before he settled on a plan of action, and Sawamura had proved to be an excellent dispenser of that advice.

And that’s when alcohol was brought into the mix, and he jumped the gun.

Wakatoshi doesn’t regret having apologized - he only wishes that he could have had more time to think through the words. And that he could have said them without being intoxicated.

The aspirin is finally taking effect. The pounding in his head dulls into background noise, and he manages to stand up and shuffle around the room without toppling over in pain.

After making himself presentable, he wanders out into the common room, where he is assailed with the scent of frying dough.

“What are you cooking?” he asks.

Oikawa doesn’t turn from where he’s stationed in front of the stove, waving a spatula around. “Pancakes, Ushiwaka. None for you, though, because I do not appreciate having to lug your drunk ass around last night.”

Wakatoshi ignores that statement. “Oikawa. You told me to apologize again when I was sober. I am now, and I stand by what I said.”

The set of Oikawa’s shoulders stiffens. From the couch, Wii remotes in hand, their other two roommates and a few strangers - presumably other athletes with rooms on this floor - glance over at him curiously.

“When I stated that you should have attended Shiratorizawa, I was merely expressing my appreciation of your skills and desire to play with you as a setter. I did not consider that the statement could be interpreted to be a condemnation of your team.”

Oikawa spins around to face him and leans against the counter, a dark scowl on his face. It would be more intimidating were he not wearing a pink apron with “Kiss the Cook” printed on the front in curlicue letters.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks. “Am I supposed to make nice with you just because you’ve finally admitted that you never gave a damn about any of my teammates?”

The occupants of the couch have progressed from mild curiosity to confusion verging on alarm. “No,” Wakatoshi says. “That was not what I meant. I apologize. You are an excellent setter and captain. I would have liked to play by your side in high school, but I recognize that you were well within your rights to choose Aoba Johsai, and you made your team the best it could be. Many of them were individually impressive, and you utilised their talents and unified them into a true powerhouse school.”

The furrow of Oikawa’s brow softens and is replaced with a sickly-sweet smile. “Aww,” he coos. “Compliment me some more, won’t you, Ushiwaka?”

Wakatoshi complies. “You are highly dedicated to volleyball, and you are able to quickly understand the needs of everyone on the team. I am very glad that we have the chance to play together now.”

Oikawa drops his head and groans. “I didn’t mean literally,” he says. “God, Ushiwaka, you’re so dense.”

Then he straightens, and the fake smile is gone. In its place is a serious, blank expression. It’s unreadable. “What brought this on?” Oikawa asks.

Wakatoshi picks his words carefully. “It was… after our loss to Karasuno. I still believe Shiratorizawa was the stronger school.” He sees Oikawa’s eyes harden and hurries to explain. “But I learned that even the strongest schools are not guaranteed victory every time. Much of volleyball comes down to the moment. In that moment, we had the weaker six. I began to realize that it was thoughtless of me to continuously dismiss you for believing you could defeat us.”

Oikawa studies him, gaze sharp and searching. Wakatoshi feels seen-through, transparent as glass.

Still, he remains silent. A few seconds pass, and then the unreadable look is off Oikawa’s face as fast as it appeared. He springs back into motion, waving a hand dismissively and returning his attention to the stove. “Whatever. I don’t care about all that anymore, Ushiwaka. The pancakes are almost ready.”

Their onlookers let out a collective sigh of relief and then scramble to get in line for pancakes. Wakatoshi stands in place, confused. Had Oikawa misunderstood him? Had he understood and decided not to believe him?

Oikawa finishes washing his hands and faces him again. His face is scrunched up in a thoughtful frown. Wakatoshi’s never seen it on him before.

“I guess you can have some, too,” Oikawa says. “But only ‘cause you ran your mouth so much that I got distracted and made too many.”

Sometimes you have to pick your battles. Especially when you’re dealing with Oikawa, with all his facetious words and false cheer. Wakatoshi takes the acceptance for what it is and trots over to the counter to grab his own plate.

He supposes, as he takes his first bite of fluffy, buttery pancake, that things worked out for the best after all.

Still. He’s never drinking again.

* * *

The week leading up to their first game of the season is an exercise in thawing and testing boundaries.

Wakatoshi tends to wake up before Oikawa, and after washing and getting dressed for the day, he spends a few minutes each morning reading a chapter or two of Tendou’s favorite manga series.

From under his covers, Oikawa grunts and pushes himself upright on the bed. He blinks bleary eyes at the colorful magazine Wakatoshi is holding. “What’s the deal with that, anyway?” he asks, flailing one hand in his direction. “Never took you for the type.”

“Tendou insisted that I read it,” Wakatoshi says. “He bought me many editions as a graduation gift.”

“Oh?” Oikawa is half-listening, busy climbing out of bed and rummaging through his clothes for the day’s outfit. “And what do you think?”

To be honest, many of the chapters are irrelevant to the main plot, and the characters deal with their problems in impractical ways. Tendou loves it, though, and Wakatoshi is willing to oblige his friend.

“I find the advertisements to be very compelling,” is what he says.

Oikawa squints. “You can’t be serious.” Wakatoshi stares back at him, placid save for a small upward tug at the corner of his mouth. Oikawa’s jaw drops further. “You’re not serious,” he says. “Are you - was that a joke?”

“Of course not,” Wakatoshi says, still smiling.

Oikawa gapes for a second before stomping off toward the bathroom. “I regret this already!” he shouts over his shoulder, but Wakatoshi doesn’t think he means it.

Probably.

They start walking to and from practice together. The silence between them is awkward at first, but then it warms and grows comfortable, and soon Oikawa is breaking it with a stream of mindless chatter. He talks about everything: yet another admirer who asked him out, this one professor who has it out for him, a funny joke Iwaizumi told him once.

Wakatoshi’s role is to be a wall for Oikawa to talk at and a sounding board for his more outlandish ideas. Sometimes he offers his opinion or mentions an interesting thing that happened to him that day, but he likes listening.

With more open communication, they work even better together on the court. Wakatoshi learns what it is like to be subjected to Oikawa’s endless perfectionism. After every spike, Oikawa hounds him with questions - faster? too fast? higher? closer to the net? what if he tries jumping later for a time-delay attack?

Wakatoshi fields them all, and Oikawa adjusts as necessary.

Their teammates pick up on the new dynamic. “You two have really started to click,” says Coach. “Glad to see that our fears were unfounded.”

“This is just what we needed with the tournament coming up,” Sakai adds.

They lock eyes, sporting identical grins, which promise no mercy for their opponents. In Oikawa, Wakatoshi sees a reflection of his own determination and deadly focus.

The rest of the week passes in a blur of classes and volleyball. The night before they leave, Wakatoshi returns to the dorm from a late evening class to find their room dark.

Oikawa is sitting cross-legged on his bed, eyes fixed on the only source of light in the room - the glowing computer screen in front of him. His hands are folded in his lap, twisting and picking at the sheets. He doesn’t look up when Wakatoshi enters.

“I was not aware that you required glasses,” Wakatoshi says.

A pair of wide, tired eyes flick over to him. Oikawa’s hands fly up to his face as if to take them off, but then he drops them again and slumps.

“How long are you planning to stay awake?” Wakatoshi asks.

“Don’t worry about it, Ushiwaka. I can turn down the brightness if you need me to.” His voice is monotone, lacking the lilting hills and valleys that characterize his everyday speech. The absence is startling.

“You should sleep. Or else you will be insufficiently rested for our game tomorrow.”

Oikawa pauses the game video. “Jesus,” he says. “You’re starting to sound like Iwa-chan.”

“I’m quite certain any reasonable person would say the same. We need you at your best tomorrow.”

Oikawa stretches his arms high behind his head, arching his back. Wakatoshi winces when he hears the joints pop.

“Fine, fine. Just let me finish this one, and I’ll stop. Since you care now, or whatever.”

“I do,” Wakatoshi confirms. “You are my friend.”

That leaves Oikawa at a loss, and, grudging, he snaps the laptop shut and sets it aside.

Wakatoshi, satisfied that he’s actually going to sleep, heads to the bathroom to get ready for bed himself. He has his own concerns for the upcoming game, but they’re mild anxieties at best, like buzzing flies. He trusts himself, and he trusts his team. That’s all he needs.

The next morning dawns soft and quiet. Too quiet. Oikawa is silent as they prepare for the day, on the walk to the gym, and while they’re boarding the bus. He doesn’t so much as put up a token protest when Wakatoshi claims the seat next to him. Instead, he stares out the window, hands digging into his thighs until his knuckles are white.

The rest of the team is in high spirits, but their voices are all distant. Wakatoshi is all too aware of the lack of whining, rambling, and/or ranting from Oikawa’s direction. He can’t focus on anything but the absence, unnatural as it is.

“Oikawa,” Wakatoshi says after a few more minutes, “what’s wrong?”

“We’re going to win, aren’t we?” His tense tone belies the words. His teeth tear at his bottom lip.

“Of course,” says Wakatoshi.

“How are so sure?” Oikawa asks. “Even you can’t be sure of victory every time - you said so yourself. Karasuno beat you, didn’t they?”

Ah. “You are concerned that there will be another team like Karasuno here. An outlier, who surprises us and prevents us from making it all the way.”

“Kind of,” Oikawa admits. “I mean, this is our first college game - college was supposed to be a fresh start, y’know? And obviously it didn’t completely work out that way, since you’re here and all. But I can’t - there can’t be another Tobio-chan here, too. I couldn’t handle it.”

Wakatoshi stays silent. He doesn’t know the details of Oikawa’s relationship with Kageyama, but he has a suspicion that it may be just as if not even more hostile than his and Oikawa’s used to be.

“And we’re freshmen, you know? So our spot on the lineup isn’t guaranteed or anything. We have to prove ourselves here, or else we might be switched out. How do you handle it?”

“I believe our team is strong enough to win. I believe you and I are strong enough to be starting players. Everything else is a distraction.”

“I wish I could be as simpleminded as you, Ushiwaka,” Oikawa sneers. But at least there’s some emotion in his voice aside from the uncomfortable tinge of defeat.

“There is no room for these concerns on the court,” Wakatoshi says. “We will win. You are strong enough.”

Hearing those words, Oikawa freezes in his tracks. Then he rubs a hand over his face. “Stop being so creepy,” he says. “You really do sound like him.”

Before Wakatoshi can ask him to elaborate, Oikawa pulls out his phone. “Listen to music or something. I’m calling Iwa-chan, and I don’t need you to snoop in on my private conversations.”

Wakatoshi breathes an internal sigh of relief. Iwaizumi knows how to handle Oikawa’s moods much better than he does. He pops out his headphones and puts them in for the rest of the ride.

It’s not until right before the first game of the day, after they’re all changed and warmed up, that Oikawa addresses him again. He’s standing upright again, and he looks brighter somehow. More complete, perhaps.

“We’re going to win,” he says again, this time with his eyes narrowed and a vicious smile on his lips. All of it is a far cry from the dejected version of himself he'd been on the bus. “I believe in you, too, Ushiwaka.”

A sharp thrill races up Wakatoshi’s spine. This Oikawa is familiar territory, the one who used to sneer at him from the other side of the net when their schools faced off. Wakatoshi can so easily remember him as Seijoh’s captain, aiming those words and that smile at his team, guiding them on to victory and leaving no other option available.

It’s electrifying.

The players assume their positions, the whistle sounds, and the ball is in play.

Oikawa serves. His jump-serve is even deadlier than it was in high school, but this is the intercollegiate, and the Hosei University libero receives it with some difficulty. The ball flies back over the net.

Sakai receives it and passes it to Oikawa. His eyes flick over to Wakatoshi, who runs up to the net and jumps. The opposing middle blockers follow him. Oikawa sends the ball flying in the opposite direction to their team’s ace, who smashes it down onto empty court. Oikawa winks at Wakatoshi.

Hosei manages to score the next point, then the next. Wakatoshi is wondering whether Oikawa has relapsed into refusing to set to him when the next ball comes his way. He reacts without thinking, leaps high and vertical and makes contact with the ball. The other team, unused to dealing with his left-handed spike, can’t get under the ball fast enough to save it. This time, when he lands, he and Oikawa high-five.

It goes on like that for some time. Their university is strong, but they are not guaranteed anything here. This is not Miyagi prefecture. There is no Shiratorizawa, dominating the competition and winning constantly. There are many powerful schools, battling it out to the fullest every time they step onto the court because any game could be their last.

Hosei takes the first set. Wakatoshi and his teammates gather around the bench for water and a morale boost from their captain.

They win the second set. He catches Oikawa eyeing the stadium seats with a wistful expression and thumps him on the shoulder. _No distractions._

They win the third one as well and break for water again. Beside him, Wakatoshi senses Oikawa, as well as one of the other first-year regulars, starting to tire. He’s breathing harder than usual, and he downs half his water bottle in one swig. They’ve been playing five-match practice games since entering university, but Wakatoshi has an advantage, having played in prefectural finals numerous times. Oikawa has never had that.

“Are you still able to play your best?” Wakatoshi asks him, pitching his voice low to avoid being overheard by Coach or the captain.

Oikawa glares at him. “Who do you take me for?”

He supposes Oikawa would know his own limits better than anyone else. They return to the court, and Oikawa remains in play.

The fourth set starts off well. This far into the game, they have a more solid grasp on their opponents’ strategies. By virtue of a solid defense and Oikawa’s difficult-to-read sets, they accumulate a healthy advantage early on.

The score is 24 - 22, their advantage. Hosei serves. Their third-year libero receives it and sends it over to Oikawa. He sets to Wakatoshi, who spikes the ball only to be blocked. 24 - 23.

They serve again. Oikawa sets to Wakatoshi again, but the opposing middle blockers are already on him. Grimacing, he rebounds it off the tips of their fingers back to the libero.

It goes to Oikawa again. This time, he sets to their ace, who tips it over the outstretched hands of the other team. But their libero is there again, and he receives it to their setter. The setter fakes them out with a dump. 24 - 24.

Oikawa gestures to the libero in a way that’s only recognizable if you know what you’re looking for. Wakatoshi does, and he bites back a fierce grin.

Hosei’s serve. Their blocker’s receive. The ball flies toward their libero. He sets it to Oikawa, already in prime position for a perfect spike. He slams it down, and it catches the other team off-guard. 25 - 24.

25 - 24, but Wakatoshi watches as the impact of the landing jars Oikawa’s entire body. He’s swarmed by cheers and congratulations from his teammates, but his stance is all wrong, favoring one leg over the other.

“Are you sure your knee is all right?” Wakatoshi asks once the crowd of players has dispersed.

Oikawa sniffs. “Don’t be jealous that I spike better than you, Ushiwaka.”

“Oikawa -”

“I’m going to finish this game. And you aren’t going to stop me.”

Wakatoshi revises his earlier statement. Maybe Oikawa doesn’t know his limits after all, or at least knows them well enough to ignore them. He’s going to make sure that that knee is iced and bandaged later, no matter how much Oikawa tries to object.

It’s Wakatoshi’s turn to serve. The other team receives. It goes to Sakai, then Oikawa. He sets to Wakatoshi.

Jump. Spike. Score.

26 - 24.

Their win.

The whooping and shouting of his teammates is drowned out by the deafening roar in Wakatoshi’s ears. He clenches his fist, relishes the familiar sting that comes from impact after impact of the volleyball against his skin. His mouth stretches into a grin, so wide it’s uncomfortable.

The rest of the team pull him into a sweaty, exuberant embrace, each of them high off the adrenaline rush of their first victory of the season. Wakatoshi catches Oikawa’s eye from across the circle. He’s beaming. They both are.

_Told you so,_ Oikawa mouths.

* * *

Wakatoshi and Oikawa walk to the changing rooms side by side, trailing behind the rest of their teammates. Oikawa regales him with the highlights of the game, and Wakatoshi tolerates it as if he hadn’t played the exact same court and witnessed the exact same moments.

The stream of consciousness cuts off, though, as soon as they spots a figure in a dark hoodie leaning against the hallway wall.

Oikawa laughs - it’s more of a shriek, really - and flings himself at the man. “Iwa-chan!” he says. “You came, you liar, I thought you said you couldn’t make it -”

“Idiot. Get off me.” Iwaizumi pushes Oikawa’s arms off and holds them away from his body. “You should be more careful, Shittykawa. I saw you limping on the court. When you can’t play, just don’t play.”

“But I could play. We won, didn’t we?”

“You know that it’s not going to hold out forever. When are you going to learn to take care of yourself?”

Wakatoshi is contemplating the merits of sneaking past the bickering pair so he can change out of his sweat-soaked uniform. But then Oikawa huffs and crosses his arms. “Whatever. Why did you even come all the way here if you just wanted to lecture me?”

He spins on his heel and stomps off. Iwaizumi slumps even farther against the wall. He spares a glance toward Wakatoshi, still standing in place.

“Oh. It’s you.” Then he sighs and lets out a string of colorful curses. “Damn it. I wanted to surprise him, not yell at him first thing. But that dumbass always makes it so hard when he won’t listen to anything I say.”

“Oikawa can certainly be difficult,” Wakatoshi offers.

Iwaizumi snorts. “I guess you, of all people, would know.”

“Our relationship has improved since high school, for which I am grateful.”

“Figures. You two were really in sync out there. How’d that work out?”

“I came to understand how I could have come across as insensitive in our interactions. I apologized.” Wakatoshi pauses. “I would also like to extend those apologies to you. I did not mean to demean your skill as an ace or as a worthy teammate for Oikawa.”

Iwaizumi waves it off. “Eh. I’m not as petty as he is. Consider it dead and buried. Although, if I know Oikawa at all, he probably didn’t apologize for his role in the whole thing, did he?”

“I did not see any reason for him to.”

“I mean, we were pretty much total dicks to you, too. So for what it’s worth, I’m sorry for that. And Oikawa probably is, too. He’s just too immature to say it out loud.”

“Then I accept your apology.”

“Yeah.” Iwaizumi switches course back to the original topic. “Fuck, I have no idea what I’m supposed to do with him.”

Wakatoshi blinks. He has little advice to offer when it comes to things like this, especially when Oikawa and Iwaizumi have been friends for so long. What new insight could an outsider possibly add?

“Oikawa… misses you very much,” he tries. “I am sure he is not truly upset. Talk to him. You know him better than I.”

“You’re right. It’s just - ugh. This is the longest we’ve been apart, you know? What if things are weird now?”

“You both care about your friendship a great deal, and Oikawa is very tenacious. I do not believe he will allow things to become weird.”

Iwaizumi laughs. “‘Tenacious.’ Sure, that’s one way of putting it. Thanks.”

Wakatoshi inclines his head in recognition. That’s when Oikawa chooses to make his reappearance. He bypasses Iwaizumi and frowns at Wakatoshi. “Ushiwaka, why have you been standing out here? Go get dressed, quickly. I’m an impatient man.”

“Oi, Shittykawa, will you at least look at me?”

Wakatoshi decides to remove himself from the conversation.

In the changing room, much of the team is already dressed. They make casual conversation amongst themselves - several of them mention plans for dinner at a ramen place near campus. The captain is paying, of course.

It reminds him of his old team back at Shiratorizawa. The way Tendou coerced Wakatoshi into paying for dinner after every game, even though the middle blocker barely ate anything at all. The way Goshiki tried to challenge him to eating competitions, which he politely declined. He realizes that he misses them. Even Washijou-sensei and his two hundred jump serves.

Maybe he’ll pay them a visit when summer break rolls around.

When he emerges back into the hallway, showered and changed, the rest of the team is already waiting. Well, the team plus Iwaizumi. Oikawa has pulled out his phone and is snapping selfie after selfie with his former teammate. Iwaizumi entertains it with a disgruntled scowl, but that’s probably his default. At least they’ve made amends.

“Ushiwaka!” Oikawa says. “Sakai-kun is treating us all, so hurry up!”

A few of the upperclassmen laugh at Oikawa’s antics, which are routine at this point. They make their way out of the gymnasium and toward the bus.

“What the fuck, let me go,” Iwaizumi says, being pulled along by Oikawa. “I’m not having dinner with your team.”

“Of course you are! I was the MVP tonight, so my rules.”

A passing senior ruffles Oikawa’s hair, earning an indignant squawk. “You were the MVP? Says who, brat?”

Sakai laughs. “It’s fine. Iwaizumi, was it? I can pay for you, too.”

And that’s that.

They crowd into the restaurant. Oikawa claims a corner table and drags Iwaizumi and Wakatoshi over to sit with him. They all place their orders.

The excitement over the win has simmered down to a general sense of camaraderie and high-spirited chatter. “I still can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were coming,” Oikawa says. “I even called you on the bus! Do you know how much better I would have played if I knew you were watching?”

“Doesn’t seem like you needed any help from me,” Iwaizumi says.

Oikawa glows. “I know, right? Did you see that service ace in the second set? And the dump? And the _spike?_ Aren’t I so great, Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and turns to Wakatoshi, across the table from them. “Please insult this idiot for me once in a while. Otherwise his ego will get so big it’ll explode.”

“Mean! Don’t talk about me like I’m not here!”

“I will try.”

Wakatoshi smiles. It’s the most content he’s felt since graduation.

Soon their orders arrive. Wakatoshi sips his broth and watches Iwaizumi and Oikawa bicker. They try to include him in the conversation, and he responds when addressed, but he doesn’t begrudge them the time together after so long separated.

Watching them, Wakatoshi can’t help but feel that he’s intruding on a private moment. The soft smiles and teasing remarks they share seem more intimate than he has any right to observe.

Despite all the times Oikawa has accused him of acting like Iwaizumi, there’s a level of comfort in their relationship that Wakatoshi and Oikawa do not have.

Oikawa laughs at something Iwaizumi says, leans in a little closer than typical friends would. A seed of… _something_ is planted in Wakatoshi’s mind.

When he was in elementary school, Wakatoshi’s dad had taken him to Italy for some volleyball-related conference. He was already in the little league then, but volleyball had not yet become his main passion.

Their last night there, his dad had a rare break from work and decided to take him to the opera. Wakatoshi has long forgotten the play’s name, but he remembers being entranced by the choreography of the actors onstage. They spun and danced around each other, fluid and graceful, every one of them knowing exactly where the others were headed.

That’s what watching Oikawa and Iwaizumi feels like: two actors on prescripted paths, adjacent but never colliding, the routine so well-rehearsed that every interaction is as natural as breathing.

The seed sprouts, and a frail green leaf pushes up from the dirt.

“When do you have to leave?” Oikawa asks.

“I have to be on the first train out tomorrow morning,” Iwaizumi says. “Sorry. My course load is killing me.”

Oikawa pouts and lolls his head on Iwaizumi’s shoulder. Perhaps as a side effect of the convivial atmosphere, Iwaizumi makes no move to shrug him off. “I can’t believe _school_ is more important to you than I am.”

“You obviously overestimate how much I care about you.”

“So mean!”

But Oikawa is smiling, and the sprout unfurls new leaves and small green flowerbuds.

They linger in their seats long after their meals are cleared away, but soon the night must come to an end. The three of them say their goodbyes and head outside. The cool nighttime air is welcome on their flushed faces.

It’s like a lifetime has passed when they finally return to the dorm - it feels strange to think that he woke up in this room little more than a few hours ago. The exhaustion of the day catches up to him in one fell swoop, and he collapses on the bed as soon as he can.

He turns off the lights, but Oikawa and Iwaizumi continue to tiptoe around, using the soft moonlight as a guide. Wakatoshi has been rooming with Oikawa long enough to know that he never skips out on his twice-daily skincare routines, even when he’s dead on his feet. He rolls over and resolves to tune it out, as usual.

As he’s drifting off, though, he hears voices behind him.

“What do you mean, there’s no guest futon?”

“We’re broke college students, Iwa-chan, what do you think?”

“You suck.”

“We can just share, right? We used to do it all the time.”

“Yeah, when we were _eight._ ”

“Come on.”

“...Fine.”

And then, so quiet it’s hardly audible:

“I missed you, Iwa-chan.”

“Missed you too, idiot.”

The seed is no longer a seed or a sprout, but a flower in its own right. A white carnation, brilliant among the green.

* * *

In Wakatoshi’s defense, he waits until Iwaizumi is gone to bring it up.

They have the day off from practice, so there’s not much to do. Wakatoshi waters his plants, reassures each of them that they’re doing great and growing up to be lovely, healthy specimens. Then he settles down on the couch with a mug of tea and an unfinished essay for one of his classes.

Oikawa had left early in the morning to accompany Iwaizumi to the station. When he returns, he is noticeably more despondent. He plops into a nearby armchair with a put-upon sigh.

“I can’t believe I’ve been left all alone again,” he monologues to empty air. “With only the robot Ushiwaka for company. The world is so cruel.”

Wakatoshi sets down his tea. He clears his throat. Oikawa looks at him, head tilted as if to prompt him to go on.

“Iwaizumi,” Wakatoshi says. “You love him.”

Oikawa freezes. “Hm? Don’t be stupid, Ushiwaka-chan.”

“It is not my place to intrude into your personal relationships -”

“It really isnt,” Oikawa agrees.

“You speak of him often. You miss him constantly. You are more yourself when he is around.”

“We’re friends. Maybe you don’t have experience with that kind of thing, but that’s what friends do.”

“Oikawa -”

“Nope! No thanks!” Oikawa leaps to his feat. “I’m leaving, and I’ll come back when you stop being so ridiculous.”

He hadn’t removed his jacket or shoes when he returned from the train station, so he doesn’t have to pause on his way out the door.

Wakatoshi stares after him.

It’s possible that he is wrong. As Oikawa likes to remind him, he’s not the best at picking up on feelings. But thinking back to last night: the casual, lingering touches and fond looks? The gentle teasing and the insults that are more affectionate than they really should be?

He doesn’t think he is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> after ch 395 of the manga came out i decided that i need more iwaizumi & ushijima content in my life & if i have to write them myself then i will.
> 
> ~~also i was so relieved that oikawa & iwaizumi are still in contact i don't know what i would do without them~~
> 
> the next chapter is the longest, because it deals with the whole getting-iwaoi-together situation. they are idiots, bear with them.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Oikawa hatches a plan and Ushijima suffers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was hell to write i had to change the outline of what happens so many times. & then i went back to edit and realized right before posting that i referred to oikawa as oikawa instead of tooru for the entire thing so i had to fix that every time it came up aakshkahskj im so mad.
> 
> but i hope u like!

Tooru doesn’t stray very far from the dorm because he has nowhere to go. He speedwalks down the hallway and takes the stairs to the first floor two steps at a time, but once he’s out on the sidewalk in front of the athletes’ dorm complex, he stops. He doesn’t want to be around people right now, mind too muddled to handle all the social niceties. Usually when he gets like this he heads to the gym to put in a few hours of practice and block out his thoughts, but something tells him that this is too important to forget.

So he paces the length of several sidewalk squares, back and forth and back and forth. The rhythmic thudding of his footfalls clears out the pounding of his heart and mind. Once some semblance of clarity has returned to him, he slows.

He’s not _in love_ with Iwaizumi. That’s ludicrous. Tooru would know, surely, if he was in love with his best friend.

Why is he taking this so seriously, anyway? It’s Ushijima, who’s not exactly known for being in touch with his sensitive side. Tooru covers his eyes with both hands and lets out a groan.

“Um. Oikawa?”

It’s one of his roommates, one of the basketball players, coming back from practice. Tooru realizes that he’s blocking the entrance to the building and shuffles off the sidewalk onto the nearby grass. “Sorry” he says.

“No problem. Uh, you good?”

Tooru waves him off. “Fine. Just don’t tell Ushiwaka where I am.”

The guy nods. “Will do.”

When he’s gone, Tooru folds himself into a seated position on the grass. He tucks his knees up to his chest and picks at a clump of nearby dandelions.

Him? In love with Iwaizumi?

He thinks back to last night. What could he have done to give Ushijima that impression?

Maybe they’d been a little more touchy than normal, but that was to be expected. They weren’t used to being apart. Of course Tooru would miss Iwaizumi after several months distant, would want to keep him a little closer than normal. And the whole sharing-a-bed situation was born out of necessity - so what if he’d enjoyed being pressed against Iwaizumi a little more than was normal? Iwaizumi was warm, and Tooru gets cold when he’s sleeping.

And if he stood too close and laughed too hard, well, that shouldn’t mean anything, either. Iwaizumi is magnetic. He doesn’t possess the brand of overt, flirtatious charm that Tooru does, but he radiates a kind of quiet confidence, an assurance in his body and his abilities that Tooru can’t help but be drawn to.

It was their second year of high school, Tooru recalls, when Iwaizumi started to truly grow into his own. His muscles filled out, his shoulders broadened, and his voice deepened. Tooru liked that voice, could still close his eyes and imagine it, rough and reassuring, in his ear.

Iwaizumi had always been reliable, but then he acquired a sort of gravity and stability that he wore like a second skin. He was Tooru’s foundation, his pillar. Who knows where they’d be without each other.

Somewhere along the way, he’d started thinking of Iwaizumi as home. Him and all his endless _Shittykawa_ and _take better care of yourself, dumbass_ and his solid, comforting presence.

Tooru thinks, _Oh, fuck._

Tooru thinks, _I can’t believe Ushiwaka figured it out before I did._

It’s been a long time coming.

The wave of emotion crashes into him like a flash flood. All the breath is caught out of his lungs. Tears sting at the corners of his eyes, and he lets out a weak laugh.

All of a sudden, Ushijima’s simple words - _you’re in love with him_ \- seem like the understatement of the century. Tooru isn’t just _in love_ with Iwaizumi. He’s punch-drunk, smitten, infatuated. Completely and utterly gone. He can no longer imagine a world without Iwaizumi by his side; the thought of it is gray and dull. He wants to wake up next to Iwaizumi every morning, wants to cook breakfast for him, wants to kiss him on TV for the entire world to see.

Tooru loves Iwaizumi more than milk bread, more than hair product, more than -

_More than volleyball?_ his mind asks.

The answer comes, immediate, unflinching: _yes._

Why not? All those things are tangled with Iwaizumi in his memories, anyway. Iwaizumi, buying him milk bread with a grudging smile at the conbini on the route home from school. Iwaizumi, making fun of him for spending so much time in the bathroom every morning and ruffling his hair on purpose to mess it up. Iwaizumi, his partner on and off the court, who he trusts, who he always, always sets to when he’s under pressure.

Tooru smiles, stands, and dusts himself off. The realization is freeing. It’s as if he’s dropped a weight he’s carried for so long that he no longer knows what to do without it. He likes being in love. He likes that it’s his best friend who he’s in love with.

Now all that’s left to do is to figure out how to tell Iwaizumi about it.

When Tooru wants something, he goes after it with everything he has. But he wants this a lot, more than most things, so he’ll have to tread carefully. The newfound knowledge is too raw, too delicate, and Tooru doesn’t know if he can handle a rejection.

He needs to think things through. He needs to ease Iwaizumi into the idea of dating him before he comes out and says it.

And, for the time being, he needs to get backup.

Luckily, Ushijima isn’t the type to say _I told you so._

Tooru heads back up to their floor. Ushijima is no longer in the common area, so he checks their bedroom. Sure enough, Ushijima has moved there, and he’s seated in the middle of the floor, poring over the open notebooks and textbooks laid out around him.

“Really, Ushiwaka? Studying on your day off?”

Ushijima glances up. “Ah, Oikawa. You have returned.”

He says nothing else. Tooru gets the vague impression that he’s trying to refrain from bringing it up first. That he wants to let Tooru start the conversation. Despite himself, Tooru’s touched.

“I thought about it,” he says. “What you said.”

“Have you reached a conclusion?”

“I have.” Tooru flops down on the bed and heaves an aggrieved sigh. “This is your fault, you know? I could have lived a long, fulfilling life without knowing about all these… feelings. You’re gonna have to make it up to me.”

“I don’t understand.”

He sits up and flashes Ushijima a grin. “Easy. Help me woo Iwa-cha, Ushiwaka! Then we’re even.”

Ushijima blinks at him. “I… do not believe that you need to ‘woo’ him.”

“Come on! I’ll plan everything out, you just do what I tell you to.”

“How can you be sure that Iwaizumi does not already have feelings for you?”

Tooru snorts and waves a hand as if to bat the thought away. “Don’t be dense. Of course he doesn’t. This is Iwa-chan we’re talking about. He’s known me for so long, knows everything about me - yeah. Definitely not.” Tooru chews on his lip. After bearing witness to all his petty jealousies and insecurities, how could Iwaizumi possibly like him? The guy’s seen him cry at least a dozen times, and Tooru knows he’s an ugly crier.

No, he’s going to have to make Iwaizumi see him in a new light. He’s going to show Iwaizumi that he can be more than that snotty, bratty childhood friend. The flickering impressions of a plan begin to form in his mind. If he wants Iwaizumi to agree to date him, Tooru will have to prove his worth as a potential boyfriend.

Tooru looks back over at Ushijima, who is studying him with quiet intensity. “Please,” he says. “I need your help.”

Perhaps Ushijima reads something in his face, because he sighs. “This is unnecessary. But I will assist you if I must.”

Tooru beams. “Of course you will. Who could turn down a chance to earn the approval of the great Oikawa-san, right?”

Ushijima returns to his textbooks. “Of course.”

With that settled, Tooru turns his attention elsewhere. He pulls out his phone.

He wants to confess in person, because he’s watched enough movies to know that it’s most romantic that way. And it will be easier to prove to Iwaizumi that he’s boyfriend material if they’re in the same place.

The distance between their universities complicates things, but he thinks Iwaizumi can be persuaded to visit.

Tooru dials and holds the phone to his ear and waits.

“What do you want, Trashykawa? We just saw each other.”

_But you picked up anyway,_ Tooru thinks, and his heart pounds.

“Yeah, for one day. That’s not enough time with Iwa-chan! You should come visit again soon.”

Iwaizumi doesn’t respond. That’s okay; Tooru can hear him thinking over the line.

“Besides, I have something important to tell you. Don’t you want to know what it is?”

“Seriously? Asshole, couldn’t you have told me last night?”

“It’s a, uh, recent development. Please?”

“Why can’t you tell me now, then?”

“Over the phone? Where I don’t get to watch Iwa-chan’s reaction? That’s so boring! Besides, don’t you want to see me again?”

“I have to put up with you enough in my life already.” Before Tooru can protest, he adds, “Fine. I’ll see if I can figure something out. But it’ll be a few weeks at least.”

“That’s okay! I’ll be patient of course, since it’s you.” In the meantime, he has other preparations to make. Two or three weeks’ time would be perfect.

Iwaizumi starts coughing.

“Iwa-chan? Are you okay?”

He mumbles something under his breath about _idiots_ and _saying embarrassing stuff_ that Tooru doesn’t catch. “Iwa-chan?”

“I’m fine. Is that all you wanted? Because I have some work I need to finish on the train.”

“Oh, sure. But you better call me later as soon as you have a date!”

“I will. Bye.”

“Bye, Iwa-chan!”

Tooru sits in place for a while, cradling the phone to his chest with a goofy smile. In hindsight, it’s obvious. He can’t believe he didn’t notice sooner.

“Okay, Ushiwaka,” Tooru says. “Here’s the deal. You ever heard of wingmanning?”

“I have not.”

Of course not. “Well, it’s like when you’re at a bar and you spot a pretty girl - or guy - you want to get with. So your friend goes over first and talks you up to them to pique their interest. Then you swoop in.”

“...Are we meeting Iwaizumi in a bar?”

“ _No,_ Ushiwaka, it’s the concept. When he comes over to visit, you’re going to have to be my wingman. Compliment me. Say things that’ll make Iwa-chan think of me in a romantic way.”

“Like what?”

“You know. How nice I look, how soft my hair is - things that normal friends don’t think about each other. Figure it out. And make it subtle.” Tooru knows from experience that Ushijima doesn’t do subtle well, but he’s the best option available. And they have some time to practice.

“All right. I will try.”

“‘Kay. Start now. Say something nice about me - it shouldn’t be hard. There’s a lot to like.”

Ushijima says nothing. Ushijima says nothing for so long, in fact, that Tooru tilts his entire body sideways to get a better look at his face and figure out what his deal is.

He’s frowning, brows scrunched in concentration.

“Oikawa. Your skin looks very moisturized today.”

Tooru bursts out laughing. “Oh my god, Ushiwaka. Less serial killer-y, please. You sound like you want to wear my face as a mask.”

“That does not sound very pleasant.”

“Definitely not. Try again, come on.”

“You have ideally proportioned facial features.”

“That’s… better, I guess? Do you ever talk without sounding like an encyclopedia?”

Ushijima shrugs. Tooru throws one hand over his face and laughs, slightly pained.

Oh, well. Practice makes perfect, right?

* * *

They don’t get much of a break from volleyball. Saturdays are their weekly rest days anyway, and just because they’ve finished their first game of the season doesn’t mean that Coach is going to spoil them. On Sunday, along with their regular classes, they’re back on the court. The players file into the gym and form a half-circle around their coach and captain.

“Good job on Friday,” Coach says, “but don’t go getting complacent. Things will only get harder from here. Every game you play now is preparation for the All-Japan Intercollegiate in November. We want to start off with a strong season.”

“You guys know that the mental game is as real as the physical one,” Sakai says. “The more games we win now, the better precedent we set and the more we get in our opponents’ heads come the actual tournament.”

Around him, Tooru sees the other players nodding in agreement. He smiles. On the court, he thrives off of the trash talk and mind games as much as he does the physical act of pushing his body to the limit.

“We’re going to focus on serves today,” Coach continues. “Far too many of them were received by the other team.” He pauses to sweep his gaze over the gathered players.

“Ushijima, your power is good, but make sure to work on your aim. Oikawa, that jump-serve can be a real weapon in our arsenal if you refine it more. It should land in bounds ten times out of ten.”

“Yes, Coach!”

He goes on to give pointers to the other players. When he’s done, he claps his hands and sends them off to do warm-ups, with instructions for practice after that.

Tooru loves serving. He likes working with the rest of the team, too, of course, but when it’s just him and the ball, the thrill is sharper. His muscles straining, the sound of the ball slapping against skin in his ears, the only thought in his mind is how to put all his strength and accuracy behind the impact.

He breezes through two dozen serves easy before he breaks for water.

As soon as he reaches the bench, the screen of his phone lights up with Iwaizumi’s name. His pulse jumps. He hits the _accept call_ button and takes a drink from his water bottle while he waits for Iwaizumi to speak.

“Yo, Oikawa.”

“Hey, Iwa-chan.”

“Why do you sound - oh, wait. You have practice now, huh?”

Tooru makes a noise of affirmation, privately swooning over the fact that Iwaizumi knows his schedule. That means he cares, right? At least a little?

God, he feels like a schoolgirl with a crush.

“I cleared my schedule for Friday through Sunday three weeks from now. My professors are letting me turn in my assignments online.”

“Woah, really? How’d you get them to agree to that?”

Iwaizumi clears his throat, sheepish. “I may have told them something about family troubles,” he says. “Apparently my grandma’s scheduled to have surgery then, and I have to be there for her. So thanks for that.”

Tooru giggles. “Oh my god, Iwa-chan. You lied to your teachers? For little old me? I’m blushing.”

“Shut up and go back to practice.”

“Fine, fine. I’ll see you in three weeks, though.”

“Yeah, see you.”

Tooru waits for Iwaizumi to hang up. Three weeks. So now he has a time frame. In three weeks, he has to figure out exactly when, where, and how to confess to Iwaizumi.

When practice ends, Tooru lays out the schedule for Ushijima. “So,” he says, “I think dinner is a good time, right? I don’t know where yet, but it has to be somewhere suitable for couples. We get dinner all the time, and he’s way too dense to figure it out that it’s a date without obvious context clues.”

“I am not sure that Iwaizumi is the dense one in your relationship.”

Tooru gasps and whips his head around toward Ushijima. “What the hell? Did you just - ?”

Ushijima sighs.

“Ushiwaka, oh my god. First of all, I cannot believe you would say that to me. Second of all, we’ve been over this. He’s not going to accept my confession unless I go all out, so here I am. Going all out. Be a supportive friend, won’t you?”

“Fine.”

“That’s better. Now, do you know any good date spots?” Before Ushijima can answer, Tooru cuts him off. “What am I saying, of course you don’t. Okay, Google it is, then. But you’re going to have to help me test them out.”

“You mean you would like us to visit these establishments together?”

“Well, I’m not going to take Iwa-chan out without scoping the place out first, am I? You’ll come as a second pair of eyes, in case I miss anything. This has to be perfect.”

“All right.”

“And you’re paying, too, private school boy.”

“Aoba Johsai was a private school as well,” Ushijima points out. But there’s the barest hint of a smile on his lips - Tooru’s getting better at reading into his expressions, subtle as they are - so he must not mind much.

Back at the dorm, Tooru bypasses his homework in favor of looking up popular restaurants in the vicinity. He dismisses most of them out of hand for being too ostentatious - Iwaizumi has never been a huge fan of flashy displays - or too casual - Tooru needs a place with a romantic aura to get them both in the mood. But by the end of the hour, he’s compiled a decent list. There aren’t so many that Ushijima will have to empty his bank account to afford everything, but there are enough that they can spend a decent amount of time surveilling each one before the three weeks are up.

And - Tooru glances at the time in the upper corner of his laptop screen - it’s nearing dinner time for the day. Perfect.

He changes out of his loungewear and into a nice button-up and khakis. He’s going to have to put more thought into the outfit he actually wears on his date with Iwaizumi, but this should suffice for now. There’s no reason not to look nice on a night out, even when his companion for the night is Ushijima.

“Ready, honeybunch?” Tooru asks, throwing a wink in his roommate’s direction for good measure.

Ushijima is still wearing the sweatpants, embroidered with the university’s logo, that he changed into after practice, but Tooru can’t be bothered to tell him to change. They head out together. The restaurant is a brief walk away.

It’s a nice, out-of-the way diner with a sleek modern decor and mood lighting. The dim ceiling lamps placed in strategic locations around the room give the impression of privacy for every table.

Tooru notices upon entering that there aren’t many college-aged people around. The other diners are dressed in suits or pencil skirts, most of them looking as though they’ve come straight off a nine-to-five shift. He makes a mental note - this place is probably too formal or too old for them to feel comfortable in.

But they’ve already come all this way, and Tooru is hungry. They should see what the food is like, at least.

The waitress leads them to a corner table for two, and they order. The meal passes in pleasant fashion. The dishes are good, but all of them are arranged in a tidy, businesslike way on the plates. It only serves to remind Tooru of how stuffy the entire atmosphere of the restaurant is.

It’s not like he’d expected to find the perfect location on the first try, though.

They cross more options off the list in the next few days. There’s one place that specializes in western cuisine, which Tooru rejects on the basis of the eclectic decor. An experimental fusion restaurant, with portions so small that Tooru is left feeling cheated even though he hadn’t been the one to pay. And a restaurant decorated entirely with foliage and flowers. Ushijima spends the entire evening gazing around the space in delight. On the other hand, Tooru remembers halfway through the meal that Iwaizumi is allergic to daffodils, and he leaves the restaurant feeling dejected.

Their sixth or seventh try is a café specializing in dessert. Tooru and Ushijima are taken to their table by the hostess, and then they’re approached by a familiar face.

“Oikawa?” Sawamura Daichi asks. “Ushijima?”

“Um. You work here?” Tooru asks.

“Sawamura,” Ushijima says. “It is nice to see you again.”

“You, too.” He gestures between them. “So, I take it everything worked out between you two, then?”

“It did. Thank you.”

Tooru snorts. “Hey, don’t get ahead of yourself, Ushiwaka-chan. I’m only here with you because you’re paying.”

If anything, Sawamura grows more discomfited, glancing between them in an odd, furtive way. He clears his throat. “Well. Can I get you started with anything?”

They end up getting their desserts to go. Leaving the building, Tooru huffs and crosses his arms. “This is awful. What, seven restaurants now? And not a single one that I can take Iwa-chan out to.”

“I did not notice any problem with that one.”

“Yeah, it was nice,” Tooru says, a tad mournful. At this rate, he’s going to end up confessing to Iwaizumi in a McDonald’s. “Until Dai-chan showed up.”

“What’s wrong with Sawamura?”

“It’s always distracting running into someone you know somewhere they’re not supposed to be. I can’t risk Iwa-chan starting a conversation with him and ignoring me. Or what if he gets sad because it reminds him of the last time we played on the same team? Too risky.”

“I understand,” Ushijima says. “Although I believe Iwaizumi has more mental fortitude than you give him credit for.”

The second week passes, and no luck. If it weren’t for their volleyball games and daily practice, where Coach is running them more ragged than ever, Tooru and Ushijima would be in serious trouble with all the extra calories. As it is, Tooru is starting to crave his mom’s cooking. Just a simple, homemade meal. That’s all he asks.

It’s not until Monday of the third week that Tooru deems a place suitable for his purposes. It’s a quiet place a few blocks from the university campus, with dark wood furniture illuminated by the soft, pink-tinged light of paper lanterns. They serve agedashi tofu, and there’s a secluded table near the back that Tooru has his eye on.

In any normal situation, maybe, he would keep second-guessing himself, would keep searching, never satisfied, always sure that there’s somewhere better out there. But it’s been weeks, and he’s tired of eating out every night, and he’s sure Ushijima is tired of spending so much money. So he calls and makes a reservation there for Friday night, and then he clears his Bookmarks tab of all the other restaurants he was planning to try out.

Having the dinner on Saturday night gives Tooru two days to convince Iwaizumi to consider him as a boyfriend. He and Ushijima have been practicing the whole wingman thing, and he thinks they’ll be all right.

The original plan was to confess on Sunday, the very last day of Iwaizumi’s stay. That way, Tooru had reasoned, if he was rejected, Iwaizumi would leave anyway, and he wouldn’t have to face the mortification of being reminded of that rejection.

But then he thought about it and decided that was a terrible idea. If he let Iwaizumi leave like that, with everything so awkward between them, they might never talk again. Better to have the cushion day. That way, if Iwaizumi did turn him down, Tooru had time to prove that things could go back to normal. That they could still be friends.

And if Iwaizumi accepted his confession… well. They would have an entire day to live out all of Tooru’s domestic fantasies. They could do things to each other that Ushijima would have to leave the dorm for.

Tooru can’t stop thinking about it. Him and Iwaizumi, together. In a way they haven’t experienced before. Their friendship is so well-worn, like a comfortable baby blanket. Tooru relishes the familiarity of every interaction, all the shared memories and secrets. Yet at the same time, the possibility of adding a new dimension excites him. What would it be like, to learn Iwaizumi and his body in a new way?

The date marked on his calendar looms closer and closer, and Tooru rattles with nerves.

On the night before they’re supposed to pick Iwaizumi up, Tooru forces Ushijima to stay up with him and pick out outfits.

“Okay.” He holds up two hangers for Ushijima to look at. “We’ve got the train station outfit and the Saturday morning outfit settled. Now you need to help me figure out what to wear to dinner.”

“Oikawa. It is now one-thirty in the morning. The train arrives at six.”

“Choose quickly, then. This is the most important one. Red shirt or blue shirt?”

Ushijima glances between the satin button-ups on either hanger, identical save for the color and the slight jacquard print of the blue one.

“Blue,” he decides at last.

Tooru hums. “I guess you’re right. It does look better on my skin tone, doesn’t it?”

“We should sleep now.”

“Aren’t you going to try complimenting me? Doesn’t it look good?”

“Oikawa. Sleep.”

“Fine.”

Tooru crawls into bed, and he can’t help the gnawing ache deep down in his bones. He’s not sure if it’s longing or terror.

* * *

Years of conditioning his body to function on insufficient hours of sleep allow Tooru to roll out of bed at five the next morning, before Ushijima and even before his alarm. Iwaizumi has often complained about it - _That’s so messed up, Shittykawa. How can you be a morning person and a night person?_

The thought of Iwaizumi sends a flurry of butterflies rushing through him. He dresses in the aptly-named “train station outfit” they’d picked out last night - nice jeans, a colorful windbreaker, and a t-shirt with an alien head sewn on the pocket. It’s meant to be a little playful, a little childish, to remind Iwaizumi of the way they grew up together. To remind him that no one knows him as fully as Tooru does.

Ushijima wakes up around the time Tooru has finished styling his hair, which is excellent timing on his part because it means he can occupy the shower and thus avoid dealing with Tooru’s mini freakout session in the bedroom.

They arrive at the station with less than a minute to spare before the scheduled arrival time. Tooru spots Iwaizumi exiting the train and waves him over.

Iwaizumi’s presence here is a lot to take in. Tooru had his moment of realization when Iwaizumi was already miles away, and this is the first chance he’s had since then to appreciate how attractive his best friend is.

The spiky black hair sticks up in the same endearing hairstyle Iwaizumi’s had since elementary school. There’s a large crowd separating them, so Iwaizumi has to stop every few steps to apologize to someone he’s trying to get past. He’ll flash a small, polite smile at them and continue on his way, and Tooru’s knees get a little weak whenever he catches a glimpse of it.

As he gets closer, Tooru can see the rest of him, all sculpted muscle and tan skin. The basketball shorts he’s wearing show off several inches of toned thigh. Tooru maybe chokes on air a little, which causes Ushijima to look over at him in concern.

“Oikawa, hey,” Iwaizumi says, and smiles at him. It’s a real, full smile, with teeth and eye crinklies and everything, and it’s dizzying.

Tooru recovers fast, though. He steps forward and pulls Iwaizumi into a tight hug. “Someone looks glad to see me,” he sings. “Bet there’s no one as great as me at Tohoku, huh?”

He lets go with a whine when Iwaizumi whaps him on the head. “Iwa-chan! Watch the hair!”

Ushijima clears his throat from behind them. “Oikawa did spend a significant amount of time on his hair this morning,” he says. “It is very soft.”

He shoots a _look_ in Tooru’s direction, and it’s only by virtue of months of practice that Tooru recognizes the slight panic in his eyes. He tries to communicate his appreciation in a nod, and Ushijima relaxes.

“Um,” Iwaizumi says. “I mean, I guess?”

It’s not the promising start Tooru was hoping for, but it’s something.

On the way back to campus, they pick up breakfast to-go at a small café. Ushijima and Tooru still have volleyball, because Coach is inconsiderate like that, and Iwaizumi tags along. Most of the team remembers him from their first game, and they see no problem with letting him join in on practice.

It’s exhilarating being on the same court together again. Tooru is Iwaizumi’s setter, and Iwaizumi is his ace, and that’s all that the world narrows down to. Tooru has long perfected Iwaizumi’s toss, high and close to the net, and he thinks, vindictively, that there’s no way Sugawara has gotten to the same level of familiarity.

Iwaizumi must feel it, too, the breathless rush at playing on the same team one last time. His spikes are sharp and clean, and Tooru watches the flex of his bicep on each downward swing. He’s better than he was when they left high school. Part of that must be attributed to practice with his own university team. But Tooru wants to believe that his presence had some effect, that his and Iwaizumi’s synchronization still boosts both of their performances in a way that nothing else can compare to.

Sakai notices, too. “Damn. If you always play like that with your friend around, Oikawa, we might have to poach him.”

Tooru laughs. “Please do,” he says. “I wouldn’t mind having Iwa-chan around more often.”

He catches Iwaizumi watching him from the corner of his eye and smiles.

They spend the rest of the day in the dorms. Iwaizumi has some papers due that he can’t get out of, which Tooru was disappointed to hear. But he doesn’t feel like going out without Iwaizumi when he has so little time to enjoy his presence. And maybe this way, he can seduce Iwaizumi with his intelligence and overall helpfulness.

“Stop it, Shittykawa,” Iwaizumi says the third time Tooru makes a comment about something he’s researching. “This is O-chem. You’re studying psychology. You’re not going to be able to understand this.”

“Rude! I’m trying to help.”

“Oikawa is quite thoughtful,” Ushijima says from his seat in the armchair across from them. “I have often sought him out for advice.”

At some point during the day, Ushijima began to accept his role as the wingman. Now, he barely looks up from his computer when he compliments Tooru. He even manages to be more subtle than Tooru gave him credit for.

Iwaizumi, though, gets a strange frown on his face whenever it happens. He looks between Tooru and Ushijima, then shakes his head and goes back to his essay. Tooru sighs. Maybe they need to ramp it up a bit.

Ushijima tries his best, but he can’t always steer their normal conversations into a let’s-praise-Tooru-for-everything fest. The result is that sometimes, as they’re studying, he will break the silence with a comment like “Oikawa has nice hands” apropos of nothing. It’s awkward for everyone involved, but hopefully it’s the kind of awkward that indicates Iwaizumi starting to feel something more than friendship toward Tooru.

“Oikawa’s facial features conform to the ideal ratio for physical attractiveness,” Ushijima says. Tooru couldn’t talk him out of that one, apparently. He jumps off the couch and stalks off to the kitchen.

“Okay! Thanks, Ushiwaka. I’m going to make dinner.”

He has a curry recipe that he called Iwaizumi’s mom for, and he wants to try it out. Baking is more his thing, but he can prepare a decent meal when it comes down to it. And he puts extra effort into cooking everything to perfection this time around.

Tooru brings everything out and sets it out on the coffee table, along with several bowls and chopsticks, so they can help themselves.

“Damn,” Iwaizumi says upon taking the first bite, “this is good, Shittykawa.”

Tooru preens.

“Cooking is a valuable skill,” Ushijima says. “Especially in a relationship.”

Iwaizumi chokes on his rice.

Alarmed, Tooru thumps his back. Iwaizumi is the med student here, not him. “You okay, Iwa-chan? Do you want some water?”

“No, thanks.” He seems to recover, but he avoids looking at Ushijima.

How strange. This is all new territory to Tooru, and to his frustration, that means it’s more difficult for him to puzzle out Iwaizumi’s thoughts than it used to be. He has no idea what’s running through Iwaizumi’s mind right now.

That night, Tooru and Iwaizumi share a bed again. Only this time, instead of letting Tooru press close against his back and leech off his body heat, he lies so close to the edge of the bed that Tooru is afraid he’ll fall off. It’s obvious he doesn’t want to be touched, so Tooru stays on his side and tries to decipher his behavior.

Is Iwaizumi too overwhelmed with his new feelings to be able to touch Tooru? Or - or has he somehow figured out that Tooru is in love with him, and is he disgusted by it?

Tooru’s heart twists. He wishes he knew. He wishes his brain would stop taking him down the worst possible path every time.

* * *

Iwaizumi has always been a heavy sleeper. He’s also always hated mornings, so Tooru is confident that he won’t wake up until the sun is high above them.

That means Tooru can get away with staying still and staring at Iwaizumi’s sleeping form. It’s not the most romantic image, considering he’s still facing the other direction and there’s about a foot of mattress in between them - an impressive amount, considering the bed is only about three feet wide.

So he climbs off the bed - via the foot of it so he doesn’t wake Iwaizumi up - and tiptoes over to Ushijima’s side of the room.

Ushijima is awake as well. He’s starting a new volume of Tendou’s manga.

“Hey,” Tooru says, sitting beside him. “Do you think it’s working?”

Ushijima closes the manga and sets it aside. “I have made my thoughts on this clear. Your plan is unnecessary.”

Tooru sighs. He’s starting to think along similar lines - not that the plan is unnecessary, but that it’s doomed to fail. Iwaizumi isn’t acting any different; he hasn’t had any sort of grand epiphany. It’s disheartening. Tooru has promised himself that he’ll go through with the confession, though, and he will. Even if Iwaizumi is hell-bent on making it difficult for him.

“I’m kind of scared, Ushiwaka,” Tooru admits.

“You should not be. He will not be averse to a relationship with you.”

“But what if he is?”

“Then he will not let it ruin your friendship.”

Tooru has never been more envious of Ushijima’s simple way of looking at the world. He’s so sure of everything he says, like it’s written in stone. Back in high school, that quality had annoyed Tooru to no end. Now, he desperately wants to believe in it. Funny how things change.

The Saturday morning” outfit involves joggers and a soft cashmere cardigan. It’s homey, meant to make Iwaizumi think happy domestic thoughts about Tooru. And it’s comfortable, which is a plus.

Maybe it fulfills its purpose, because when Iwaizumi wakes up and sees him, he smiles. It’s a little half-hearted, but his eyes are soft. “Morning,” he says and ambles out to the bathroom, oblivious to the warmth filling Tooru’s chest and lungs.

“He likes you,” Ushijima says.

“You're the worst.” Tooru says. “I thought you were getting better, but here we are.”

Sharing one bathroom between them is difficult, but they make it work. It helps that Ushijima has already showered and that Iwaizumi and Tooru are well-versed in the art of maneuvering around each other.

They have breakfast together - rice and miso, since someone stole the last of their leftover curry. Ushijima finishes first and excuses himself.

“So,” Iwaizumi says, “what’s the plan for today?”

“Today's the team's free day, so I thought I could show you around. And then, um, would you like to get dinner with me?” Tooru is all too aware of the upcoming finale of his plans. They haven’t gone over all that well, and he’s most nervous for this last part.

Iwaizumi stabs at his rice. “Is Ushijima coming?”

“Uh. Do you want him to?”

He cracks a smile. “Don’t get me wrong, I like the guy. But I came here to see you, and it feels like I haven’t gotten to see you alone yet.”

Tooru feels the heat rise in his cheeks. How does Iwaizumi say these things without realizing how they sound?

“Wow, Iwa-chan. You really know how to make a guy blush.”

“Shut up.”

“But that’s a yes to dinner, right?”

“Yeah, sure. You better pick somewhere good.”

_You have no idea,_ Tooru thinks.

True to his word, Tooru takes Iwaizumi around Tokyo. They go up the Skytree. They browse the stores in Shinjuku. A lot of it is new to Tooru, too, because he hasn’t had time to see all the sights since arriving here. Still, he pays more attention to Iwaizumi’s reactions than their surroundings. He catches every small smile and widening of the eyes.

Has he always been this conscious of their closeness? He used to grab Iwaizumi’s arm and drag him around without a second thought, but now it burns whenever their skin touches. It’s unbearable.

In lieu of a proper lunch, they buy snacks from any street food vendors that catch their eye. Tooru has to force himself to tear his eyes away from Iwaizumi’s tongue darting out to lick his taiyaki ice cream.

He feels more reassured than ever in his decision to confess. Rejection would be better than this uncomfortable awareness.

After a day of walking around, Tooru is grateful when dinnertime rolls around and he can finally sit down.

He pretends to peruse the menu, though he already knows he’s going to get the same thing he did last time. Iwaizumi takes in the atmosphere of the restaurant. Tooru wonders how it must look to him. The pink lights. All the couples laughing together and sharing their desserts.

“What made you want to eat here?” Iwaizumi asks.

Tooru fakes a disinterested shrug. “It has good reviews. Do you not like it?”

“No, it’s nothing. It’s fine.”

A waiter comes around to take their orders. Tooru and Iwaizumi make small talk. They’ve been talking all day, catching each other up on everything they’ve missed while they’ve been apart. It’s good. It’s comfortable.

But it’s not what Tooru wants to say.

_Confess to him,_ a voice in his head shouts. Or, well, it says sternly. Because the voice sounds suspiciously similar to Ushijima’s, and Tooru is getting tired of realizing that _Ushiwaka_ is more logical than he is.

“Oikawa? You there?”

Tooru’s head shoots up. “Yes! What’s up?”

“You were spacing out there.”

“Don’t worry about it, Iwa-chan. I’m fine.”

“If you say so.” Iwaizumi studies his face. “By the way, didn’t you say in your first call that you had something to tell me?”

“Ah. That.”

Iwaizumi is still watching him. _Tell him, tell him, tell him,_ echoes with every drum of Tooru’s heart. It’s on the tip of his tongue.

He says nothing, and Iwaizumi shrugs and leans back in his seat. “Well, take your time. I don’t want to have come out here for nothing.”

“Mean, Iwa-chan. Being with me isn’t nothing, is it?” But Tooru’s grateful, really. He can tell that Iwaizumi means it; he doesn’t want to force Tooru to say what he’s not ready for. He’s always known how to handle Tooru.

All through dinner, Tooru can’t find the right moment. Everything is going so well. They’re having a good time talking and laughing - maybe even flirting, if Tooru lets himself get his hopes up. He doesn’t want to ruin the mood.

Then soon they’re done eating and preparing to leave. Tooru foots the bill over Iwaizumi’s objections and vocal confusion. “What, I can’t treat an old friend when he’s come so far to see me?” Tooru asks. Then he mentally kicks himself, because the whole point is to get Iwaizumi to stop seeing him as a friend.

They start on the walk back, and the silence hangs heavy between them. Every step feels heavier than the last. Every step is a countdown timer, and once it reaches zero, Tooru will berate himself for being an idiot and letting his biggest chance at happiness slip by. But still, _still,_ it’s so hard to force the words out.

In the end, it’s Iwaizumi who brings it up. “Look, Oikawa. I had a nice time tonight. But, um...”

Tooru’s heart seizes in his chest.

_But._

So Iwaizumi figured out that it was a date, and here comes the part where he tries to let Tooru down gently. Because he’s a decent guy like that. Tooru’s tongue feels like lead in his mouth. This was sooner than he expected - he’d at least wanted to say his part first. But he can’t say it’s a surprise.

“But what?” Tooru asks, hollow.

Iwaizumi stops and pulls Tooru under the eave of a nearby building. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, then back. “But don’t you think it’s unfair to Ushijima?”

Wait. What? This doesn’t sound like any rejection Tooru’s ever heard of.

“What does Ushiwaka have to do with this?”

If possible, Iwaizumi looks even more uncomfortable now. “I mean, you and he are together, aren’t you? And then you take me to a place like that and pay for my dinner? People could get the wrong idea.”

“Wait. Back up. Ushiwaka and I - what?”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes. “Oh, come on. You think I wouldn’t figure out that that’s what you’ve been trying to tell me?”

“But why would you think -”

“Sugawara told me,” Iwaizumi says.

_What the fuck do all these people have to do with me and you?_ Tooru wants to scream. He has never been more lost in his life.

“Sawamura told him that he saw you and Ushijima out at a couples’ café together. And then I get here and he starts talking about you all weird, I don’t even know, complimenting you about the most random shit. It wasn’t hard to piece together.”

Oh. _Oh._

“You idiot,” Tooru breathes. He’s transcended confusion and panic, and his voice comes out calm and quiet, almost fond. “You _idiot,_ Hajime, I’ve only been working with Ushiwaka to try and figure out how to confess to _you.”_

Iwaizumi freezes.

“I - what - you? You were going to confess to me?”

Tooru exhales long and low. His heart pounds. This isn’t how he wanted the conversation to go, but the secret’s out now.

“I love you. I’m in love with you, Iwa-chan.”

“Oh,” Iwaizumi says. He looks a little awed. “So, wait, the date -”

“I was trying to find a good place to take you out -”

“- and the weird compliments -”

“- Ushiwaka was going to wingman me for you -”

“Oh my god, Shittykawa. And you call me an idiot?”

Tooru flushes. “Okay, fine. Stop making fun of me when you haven’t even given me a real answer yet!”

Iwaizumi softens. He steps forward and twines a lock of Tooru’s hair around his fingers, a crooked smile on his lips. “Isn’t it obvious? I’ve loved you for a lifetime now.”

The words barely leave his lips and Tooru is already smashing their lips together. He kisses Iwaizumi like a drowning man, breathes in the taste, the smell, the feel of him. Iwaizumi groans and rests his hands around Tooru’s waist. He pulls them close and presses their chests together until Tooru can hear the way their hearts beat in tandem.

Tooru sighs into Iwaizumi’s mouth. He doesn’t taste great - they just had dinner, after all - but kissing him is a homecoming. “Love you,” Tooru mumbles, syllables all garbled. “Love you, love you.”

Iwaizumi’s response is to hold him tighter. Tooru doesn’t think he’s ever felt as safe, as warm, as he does now in his arms.

They pull away from each other after a few minutes. Iwaizumi’s lips are red and wet, and his eyes reflect the bright shine of the streetlamps.

He snorts, and then he doubles over, laughing so hard that Tooru has to step away from him. “Iwa-chan? What -”

“You’re so dumb,” Iwaizumi says. “You - oh my _god,_ Tooru.”

“Why are you always so mean to me?” But he can’t channel the appropriate outrage into the statement. He’s too distracted by the sound of his name in Iwaizumi’s mouth.

He waits until Iwaizumi has stopped laughing to ask, “Can you say that again?”

“Say what? That you’re dumb?” Iwaizumi still looks all too amused.

“No! My, ah, my name.”

The amusement turns into affection. “Tooru,” Iwaizumi says. “I love you.”

Tooru grins. “You’re such a sap, Iwa-chan.”

“What the fuck, Shittykawa? You asked me to say it.”

“But you still meant it!”

Iwaizumi kisses him again.

“So what if I did?”

* * *

“Shut your mouth,” Tooru says.

“I did not say anything,” Ushijima says.

“He didn’t say anything, asshole,” Iwaizumi says at the same time.

They share a look, and Tooru groans. This is not fair. His boyfriend is supposed to take his side.

“You were thinking it. Ugh, fine. you were right, Ushiwaka, okay? He liked me back, the whole thing was stupid.”

“I am happy for you,” Ushijima says. That’s why Tooru likes him: minimal gloating.

“Oi, I’m right here. Stop talking about me like I’m not.”

“Oh, I haven’t forgotten you,” Tooru purrs. “In fact, I have some _plans_ for you, Iwa-chan.”

He climbs onto Iwaizumi’s lap and straddles it. Ushijima stands and leaves without a word.

“Kind of a dick move,” Iwaizumi says. “This is his room, too, you know.”

Tooru slips a hand under his shirt, tracing over the muscle there. He tilts his head in a way that he knows shows off the stretch of his neck. “Are you complaining?”

Iwaizumi loops his arms around Tooru’s neck. “Nah. Fuck him,” he says, and pulls Tooru down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> iwaizumi @ ushijima internally this entire chapter: i fuckin KNOW he's hot ok?? stop bringing it up?? bitch????
> 
> iwa & ushi are co-presidents of the oikawa tooru is an idiot club.
> 
> this is pretty much the end plot-wise. the next & final chapter will be a (relatively) short epilogue that wraps everything up and sort of brings it all together. we're almost there, folks! stay tuned!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An epilogue, several months later.

“You think they’ll be surprised?” Oikawa asks.

“I assume so,” Wakatoshi says.

Oikawa puts the car in park and switches off the ignition. It’s a rental; although Wakatoshi has a car, it seats four people at max capacity. Hardly large enough to carry everyone it needs to.

“Man, I can’t wait to see the looks on their faces. If you’d told me a few months ago that I’d be sitting in a car for four hours with Ushiwaka-chan without committing murder, I would’ve called you crazy.”

Wakatoshi chooses to ignore the implications of that statement. He appreciates the sentiment.

They climb out of the van. It would have been faster to take the train, but Oikawa had the last-minute idea to spend the first part of their summer vacation camping. Five days in the woods with no wi-fi, no electricity, and no interruptions. And they’re taking some of the other Shiratorizawa and Aoba Johsai alumni along, like a belated inter-team bonding experience. Wakatoshi does not have high hopes, but he was swept up in it anyway, as he is with so many things where his roommate is concerned.

The thought of his first and only attempt at “wingmanning,” as Oikawa calls it, still makes him cringe.

Wakatoshi and Oikawa take the time to survey their surroundings. The familiar complex of buildings that make up Aoba Johsai form a loose circle around them. Oikawa takes a deep breath, savoring the air of his hometown. He sighs, content. Wakatoshi wonders if he will feel the same way upon his return to Shiratorizawa. That’s going to be their next stop - they are here first because Oikawa won the rock-paper-scissors game back in Tokyo.

“Are you ready?” Wakatoshi asks.

Oikawa nods and starts walking, leading them inside. The last time Wakatoshi was here was almost half a year ago, for a practice game between their schools in anticipation of the Spring High. He finds himself marveling at how much of the campus has changed.

They stop at the entrance to the gym, where a familiar face awaits them. Oikawa breaks into a smile. “Iwa-chan!” he says. “Did you miss me? Were you waiting for me?”

As soon as he’s close enough to do so, Oikawa throws his arms around Iwaizumi’s neck and buries his face in his shoulder.

“You’re late,” Iwaizumi says, in a way that Wakatoshi interprets to mean _Yes, I did, I was._ “Everyone else is waiting.”

“Fashionably late,” Oikawa says, with a wink in Wakatoshi’s direction. “Just the way I like it.”

He draws Iwaizumi into a lingering kiss, and Wakatoshi politely averts his eyes for the several minutes that it lasts.

Instead, he studies a patch of flowers nearby - bright purple asters. They are healthy and vibrant. He wonders how his own plants are doing back at the dorms. One of the basketball players was tasked with attending to them over the break, and Wakatoshi can’t help but be concerned for their longevity.

Finally, Iwaizumi, grumbling but with a dark blush on his face, pushes Oikawa away, and they resume their walk to the volleyball courts.

Oikawa enters first, announcing his presence with a loud, “Ya-hoo, everyone!” and an exaggerated wave. Iwaizumi and Wakatoshi exchange a look and follow after him.

Wakatoshi tenses as soon as he’s left the relative safety of the doorway. Under the harsh overhead light, he feels way too exposed. He’s never been particularly good at meeting new people in the first place, and to make things worse, this is Oikawa’s former team. He wouldn’t be surprised if they’d all sworn an oath of hatred against him and Shiratorizawa.

The players look up from practice. One of them, wearing the number 1 captain’s jersey - Yahaba Shigeru, Wakatoshi recalls - is the first to greet them, trailed by one of his teammates. “Oikawa-san, Iwaizumi-san,” he says, bowing. He turns to Wakatoshi, eyes widening in minute confusion. “And, um -”

“Don’t mind him,” Oikawa cuts in. He pats Wakatoshi on the back. “He’s just a stray I picked up somewhere. Aren’t I so charitable?”

Iwaizumi cuffs him on the back of the head. “Oi, Shittykawa. Don’t you think it’s time you stopped pretending you don’t actually like him?”

“Ow! Iwa-chan, you’re supposed to treat me better than this now!”

“As if. Who else is going to keep you in line?”

Wakatoshi is well-practiced in ignoring them by now. He inclines his head in a short bow toward Yahaba, who is flanked by a scowling blond with a buzzcut. “It is nice to meet you,” Wakatoshi says. He nods awkwardly at the rest of the players, some of whom look a little awestruck at witnessing the entrance of the three college athletes, as well.

“Uh, yeah. You too,” Yahaba says.

Oikawa claps his hands. “Okay, everyone. Don’t mind me - unless you feel like gushing about how amazing I am, which I always encourage - and get back to practice! Yahaba-chan, it looks like you’ve been doing a great job here.”

“Thank you, Oikawa-san. I learned a lot from you.”

Buzzcut grumbles something under his breath, causing Yahaba to elbow him in the side. He rolls his eyes and stomps away. Yahaba offers Oikawa and Iwaizumi a tight smile and follows, shouting something Wakatoshi doesn’t bother to listen to.

Oikawa beams. “Did you hear that, you guys? My kouhais see me as a role model. How sweet!”

“How delusional, you mean,” Iwaizumi says.

“So mean!”

Iwaizumi and Oikawa continue to bicker. Wakatoshi, unsure of what to do with his hands, clasps them behind his back and takes the time to survey the area.

Some of the fixtures have been upgraded. The volleyball nets are new, and he thinks the wood floors might be as well. But the smell of sweat and salonpas hangs in the air, universal to gyms everywhere, and Wakatoshi is struck by an abrupt sense of nostalgia. He itches to be back in the Shiratorizawa gym with his old team, under the watchful eye of Coach Washijou. He wonders how much stronger Goshiki's spike is now, how much trouble Shirabu has keeping him under control.

On the other side of the net, Buzzcut snarls something at a bored-looking second year while Yahaba attempts to play mediator. Another player, impressively tall with pointy hair, cowers in the background.

Iwaizumi sighs. “Kyoutani is scaring the underclassmen again. I guess Yahaba doesn't have complete control over him yet.”

“Kunimi doesn’t seem bothered,” Oikawa says. He looks all too amused by the escalating situation.

“I should go stop them before things get out of hand.”

Oikawa heaves a sigh. “If you must.”

Iwaizumi starts to head toward them. When he’s made it a few feet away, he stops, spins around, and strides back to Oikawa to dip him in a hard kiss. Then, quick as a flash, he’s gone again, walking over to the group of squabbling high schoolers.

Oikawa blinks, staring after him. “Wow,” he says.

Wakatoshi grunts.

“I mean, what a guy. _Wow.”_

If this is what he has to look forward to for the next few days, Wakatoshi is dreading the camping trip more than ever. But at least there will be a few others there, Oohira and Tendou included, so he won’t have to withstand Oikawa and Iwaizumi’s displays of affection alone.

Speaking of which - “You said that two of your friends from Seijoh would be joining us.”

Oikawa nods. “Makki and Mattsun. They should be here soon.”

“Who?”

“Hanamaki and Matsukawa,” Oikawa says, as if it should be obvious.

Ah. Wakatoshi remembers them from the past matches. Not clearly, but well enough that he should be able to differentiate between them if he has to.

“And then the whole gang will be back together,” Oikawa says. He sounds wistful.

His eyes are fixed on Iwaizumi, in the middle of berating - Kyoutani, was it? Wakatoshi imagines that this must have been how the team interacted last year as well, with Oikawa as captain. He wonders if Oikawa misses it.

Wakatoshi does, sometimes, but he thinks it’s not the captain duties he misses as much as the unwavering trust his teammates put in him.

“Do you miss playing with your old team?” Wakatoshi asks.

Oikawa glances over, surprisingly serious. “Yeah. I do. Things are different now, you know? Not always in a bad way, but they’re… more complicated.”

Wakatoshi understands. Their university is a prestigious one for volleyball, and it’s a known fact that their players are scouted by some of the highest-ranking teams in the country. Maybe even the national team, if they’re really good. The pressure is on them to perform, and it will only increase as they grow in skill and experience.

“And I miss playing with Iwa-chan. He’s always been there, and now he’s not, and it’s weird.”

This, Wakatoshi understands less. "You still have him."

A brief but genuine smile plays over Oikawa’s features. “I’m really lucky, huh?”

They go quiet, each immersed in his own thoughts. The silence is comfortable. It's worlds away from the strained, brittle truces they shared at the beginning of the semester. Oikawa breaks it occasionally to shout encouragement or advice to some of the players.

Then -

“Tell you a secret, Ushiwaka-chan?”

“What is it?”

Wakatoshi watches Oikawa, who stares straight ahead, eyes determined.

“If it’s not Iwa-chan, then I’m glad it’s you. I’m glad I get to play with you and set for you. And that we’re friends.”

That leaves Wakatoshi at a loss for words. He knows Oikawa doesn’t mean most of his teasing, knows that Oikawa must care for him in his own way, but he had never expected Oikawa to admit it outright.

Oikawa rolls his eyes. “Don’t look so surprised. You’re not getting me to say it again.”

“Of course.” Wakatoshi clears his throat. “I feel the same way.”

“You’d better. I’m a fucking delight.”

Wakatoshi laughs. Maybe the camping won’t be so -

Just then, Hanamaki and Matsukawa roll through the doors wearing matching sunglasses, arms slung over each others’ shoulders, talking and laughing in loud voices. Oikawa shrieks in delight and bounds over to them. Wakatoshi revises his statement. It’s going to be a nightmare.

But he smiles anyway. He’s willing to put up with it.

And after that, they have a few weeks off to return home and visit with their families and friends.

And then they return to Tokyo for the second semester, when the team starts training for the November intercollegiate in earnest. They’ve established a strong win-loss ratio going into it, and Wakatoshi has no doubt that they can make it all the way.

Then, who knows? He could be team ace, he could make captain - it’s still a toss-up between him and Oikawa at this point, but they have three years - or land a professional contract. Maybe he and Oikawa will even play on the same pro team.

The future is bright, and Wakatoshi steps forward into it with wide eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and we're done!
> 
> this was my first chaptered fic, and even though most of it was prewritten, im weirdly proud of myself for finishing on schedule. this definitely won't be my last work for hq!! or iwaoi, so [check out my upcoming works/fandom events](https://thelittlebirdthattoldyou.tumblr.com/upcoming) if you want. feel free to [request something,](https://thelittlebirdthattoldyou.tumblr.com/ask) too!
> 
> let me know if you want any more of this verse?? im always down to give oikawa nice things.
> 
> thank you all so much for reading, commenting, leaving kudos, etc!


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